Quills and Quaffles
by CanadianCheerleader
Summary: When Rose Weasley woke up on the morning of her brand new job, she asked herself the age-old question, "What could possibly ruin this golden opportunity for financial success and corporate glory?" Silly girl.  She should have known to ask, 'who'.  RWSM
1. Miss Halfway

A/N: So, this is not a sequel to The Ridiculous Ramblings of Rose, though I do still want to write one. The problem was that while I was trying to, this idea kept distracting me, so I thought I would give it a try. This is my first ever story that is not in diary format, and it's a lot harder than I had anticipated!

_You oughta hear the mirror in my house_  
_You oughta fear her pretty, pretty mouth_  
_Says I'm imperfect in every way:_  
_Miss Almost, Miss Maybe, Miss Halfway_

_-Miss Halfway, Anya Marina_

* * *

Today was the first day of my life. Well, obviously, not technically, as I am more than a day old. I'm at the ripe old age of twenty (which sounds a lot more mature than I actually feel) and just set off on the grand adventure that is to be the 'best time of my life'.

It was the first day of my new job.

Which was going to be so totally and completely kick-ass that I could hardly stand it. Or so I thought. Although maybe, just _maybe, _I had a few 'first day' jitters. Like, the kind that caused me to be unable to eat anything for breakfast, forced me to chug a third cup of coffee in the span of forty minutes, the kind that were the main contributing factor in last night being a completely sleepless one.

And now, crouched behind a lovely-smelling shrub, craning my kneck to get a better view inside, the knees of my jeans getting grubbier by the second and all of my joints beginning to cramp, I once again repeated my personal mantra, which helped slightly (very, very slightly) in calming me down: I am Rose Weasley, and I am going to be an _excellent _PR assistant for the Chudley Cannons.

Take a guess, on a scale of one to a million, of how thrilled my dear old dad is that I have become intensely attached to the one and only team he deems deserving of the game. And, don't get me wrong, I love them too; it's why I was so determined to take the job here instead of competing for a position in the Puddlemere franchise, or somewhere else equally as asinine.

Though, I suppose asinine is not the right word. I mean, at least Puddlemere _wins _every now and again. I suppose my determination to work for the Cannons is really the only reason I am even employed right now; because nobody else wanted to have to 'sell' a team that is useless. I sincerely hope I do not get fired if the ticket sales do not improve this season; do they really expect me to work a miracle like _that?_

_Honestly._

_Nobody _wants to watch a team that can't win. Except, apparently, my father and I. But come on, how can so many people _not _cheer for the underdog? Who really wants the arrogant, conceited teams to take home the victory that they just _expect? _ It's gross.

Almost as gross as the wasp that just emerged from the shrub and tried to eat me alive. I was left to wonder, _again, _how I had ever ended up in this ridiculous position.

I was running terribly late from, seemingly, the moment I woke up. How is it so difficult to decide what to _wear? _This may sound shallow and vain, but oh contraire, it is extremely essential to be properly attired for ones first day of business! If you look good, you feel good! But I just didn't know what would be most _appropriate. _On the one hand, I wanted to look professional and to represent the corporation in a mature fashion, so should I have worn the high-waisted pencil skirt, oxford blouse, and classic black heels? Or, as this is an athletic franchise, perhaps all of my colleagues would be dressed as if it were Casual Friday, in jeans and cheesy t-shirts that say 'Cannons Blow Me Away' or something just as ridiculous.

I decided to just don a pair of jeans, stuff the fancy outfit into my bag, and hope for the best. Once I arrived, I began to skulk around the outside of the headquarters in order to try and ascertain what level of professional dress was considered appropriate by my peers. I was already incorrigibly late, which is, of course, the one and only thing you _never _want to be your first day on the job (other than over/underdressed) and lurking outside was taking quite a lot longer than I had bargained for.

And so here we are. I have already been reduced to sneaking around my own building like a petty thief.

When I finally did catch a glimpse of a young woman walking past the window, all I could see was that she was wearing a tank top. Perfect. I could just wear my casual attire after all! I knew that comfortable and practical was the way to go in a corporation like this one! Although, who _knows _what kind of embarrassment could have befallen me had I not taken the time to double-check!

I hurried inside, and took only a second to admire the lovely décor of the foyer. Okay, perhaps it was _several _seconds, but the place never ceases to amaze me. On the morning of my job interview, the first time I walked in those doors, my jaw literally dropped in awe of how beautiful it is. The fact that it was so completely not what I expected factored in to my general speechlessness, because I expected it to be, well, orange.

Which is okay in small doses, but let's just say I wasn't keen on working inside a giant pumpkin. As soon as I saw how _un_orange it was, I was even more determined to get hired; you would be too if you saw this place. Everything made out of marble or glass, cooling and relaxing. Not to mention the miniature snitches they have just floating around, far enough away to not be a nuisance, but close enough to be admired. And there's a _waterfall. _

It's always been my lifelong dream to work somewhere that has an indoor waterfall. I'm thrilled to have completed this goal at the tender age of twenty! It's a special room; I don't think I'm at all doing it justice. It's _huge, _a single room that is half a Quidditch pitch long, with a ceiling so high you get dizzy if you look at it for too long.

No wonder the Canons aren't doing well. Management is clearly spending too much funding on interior design and not enough on training costs and development camps.

By the time I had finished gawking at the foyer and _finally _rushed to the PR Department, and _then _found my office, (I have my own _office!_) I was out of breath, red-faced, grass-stained, and over half an hour late. My hands were shaking uncontrollably from the copious amounts of coffee I had consumed earlier, and I felt jittery all over. I sat down at my desk, (which has my _name _on it, how exciting is that!) and then… stared at it. Now what was I supposed to do?

Shouldn't somebody maybe have given me a run-down of what my responsibilities are? Maybe given me a little bit of training? Would I get in trouble for just sitting there uselessly? Maybe there was something important that I was supposed to be doing. Except… What on earth was it?

Luckily (I guess) Rob Loboutin, the man who interviewed me for the job, burst into my office at that exact moment. And when I say burst, I mean it completely literally; the man is the size of a small hippopotamus. He's got an extremely thick neck, broad, broad shoulders, a wide mouth and jaw, and basically completely fits the image of my stereotypical 'sports meathead'. He seems to fit that description literally as well; there does not appear to be much going on upstairs with him. And _this guy _is my boss. The Director of Public Relations, (it will forever be a mystery to me _how _he managed to wedge himself into such a prestigious position) and he… was not thrilled to see me.

At least, not thirty minutes late and looking a right mess. As soon as I saw his suit pants, stretched yellow button-down, (a man of his girth should _not _be wearing horizontal stripes) and tie, I started to have a slight sense of foreboding that perhaps I had misinterpreted the whole 'every day is Casual Friday' aspect of this job. Though, in my defense, shouldn't someone have informed me of this? Merlin, I'm not a _mind reader, _how was I supposed to know? What about Tank Top Girl? I did my best to dress appropriately; I doubt any one else had the dedication to crush their nose against an unsanitary windowpane for fifteen minutes.

"I see we've finally decided to show up," He snarled, "I'm very glad to see how dedicated you are already proving yourself to be."

Okay, _ouch. _It's the _first day _of my _first job, _he hadn't even given me a chance to 'prove myself', either negatively or positively! I mumbled an apology, spouting plenty of 'sorry, Sir's and 'it won't happen again, Sir's.

"Well what are you doing just _sitting _there?" He seemed as though he may start foaming at the mouth any second. "Are you not my _assistant? _Assist me!"

Sweet Merlin. What had I gotten myself into? He had seemed much more pleasant at the time of my interview. Probably because I was the only person who applied for the position, and he knew he had better turn on the charm if he wanted the position filled.

"Assist you… how?" Perhaps I should start counting the seconds until I'm fired.

"Firstly, by showing me that you value this job by showing up on time." Okay, I would love to, but it's a bit late now, I was not on time, it's done with, can we just move on please?

"Secondly, you can owl _these _media companies and demand that they be present in our Press Room at 2 PM today for an exclusive release and interview opportunity." The list of media companies I was supposed to owl was _longer _than the awesome foyer. Which is longer than half a Quidditch pitch. _How _did that make for an 'exclusive scoop'?

"And _thirdly," _He growled, marching towards the door, "You can make yourself presentable. Please, show some professionalism." He shook his head in dismay, I assume at my utter uselessness, and slammed my beautiful, new, fragile office door behind him.

For the seventeenth time that morning, I decided I needed to take a few calming breaths. I closed my eyes, tried to focus on getting my hands to stop shaking, and counted to ten; then I rushed to the restroom to 'make myself presentable'. I was just thanking my lucky stars that I actually _did _bring outfit option #2 with me. Though, the shirt was slightly wrinkled from being stuffed into the bottom of my bag, and the shoes were cruelly uncomfortable.

But these are sacrifices that must be made if one wants to be successful in _life!_

Shoes of death, and ultimate boredom. Perhaps I chose the wrong career path after all. Owling the exact same message to dozens of media companies got incredibly tedious after, oh, about five minutes. Not to mention that I wasn't even aware of what this scoop _was, _and therefore found it increasingly difficult to write an enticing invitation. I couldn't even give juicy little hints. How disappointing.

All I could do was pray to Merlin, on the lives of all innocent baby animals, that at least _someone _would show up to this press release thingie. Though I couldn't imagine why they would; all Cannons news tends to be of the negative, make you shake your head in pity kind. 'Then again', I thought, 'the press is a sadistic machine that takes joy in the downfall and suffering of others. I probably have nothing to worry about; they won't be able to resist showing up and spewing another tale about what a disaster the Cannons are.'

And right I was. At 1:50, Loboutin barged into my office _again _(the man must learn the meaning of delicacy) and growled, "_What _are you still doing in here? Get down to the Press Room! I need you to take note of what questions are asked and how they are answered. Then I want you to interview them privately, and write a more _personal _article for the Cannonball. I don't care _what _you ask them, just make the reader feel like they _know _them."

My heart started racing again, and I felt a little pool of real excitement start to build in my belly. Write a real story? A personal article? On my first day? Maybe I would like this job after all!

Until, "Oh, and Weasley… This is _much _more appropriate." He was positively _leering _at my legs (which, yes, I am aware that they look quite shapely in this skirt, but that is no excuse to ogle them like I am some centerfold!) and caused a distinct shudder to run through me. What a _creep. _I considered just wearing jeans to work from now on in spite of his desire for professionalism; I was _not _expecting to feel visually violated by my boss when I took this job.

Plan B was to simply hide under my desk every time I heard him approaching my office, and perhaps prop up a little sign saying I was in the loo for an indeterminate amount of time.

I didn't have much time to come up with anything more realistic, though, as I was once again running late. Maybe deciding to work in a building that's larger than my entire neighbourhood wasn't such a good idea after all; there was no _way _I could get all the way to the Press Room in ten minutes. I made the best time that I could, doing that awkward, 'I'm in a terrible hurry but don't want to show it' half glide/half run. I got to the Press Room only four minutes and fifty-two seconds late, and was honestly feeling quite satisfied and impressed with myself.

Until I took a good look around me at just how many media corporations had shown up, (pat on the back, Rosie, well done) and the… _excited _buzz that was in the air. People were either whispering conspiringly to each other, or joining in the loud hubbub of hundreds of voices yelling on top of the other, all trying to get someone's attention.

Squeezing my way to the front of the crowd was a physical challenge; I am certain that I will be bruised from head to toe. I may even have a black eye. These people are _brutal._

But when I finally did get close enough to catch a glimpse of who it was they were all so desperate to talk to, it took several minutes for the pieces to come together.

The fact that Scorpius Malfoy, star seeker, voted Best Rookie_ and_ runner-up for League MVP last season, was standing in front of me in the bright pumpkin orange of the Chudley Cannons rather than the dark grey and blue of the Falmouth Falcons that he _should _have been wearing.

_Why _was he wearing Chudley Cannon orange? _Why _was he in our Press Room? And _why, _oh Merlin, _why _were various reporters screaming, "Tell us, Malfoy, what made you decide to leave Falmouth? Why join the Cannons? Were there any… disagreements at your previous franchise?"

Oh Merlin, no. Do not tell me that Scorpius Malfoy, my one and only true rival, the one man I could honestly say that I would not ever miss in a million years after graduating Hogwarts, had joined _my _team. _I _was working here first! (Granted, only by several hours, but that is absolutely irrelevant) Do _not _tell me that I really have to do a private interview with him, and make him sound _likeable _to the general population.

I _cannot _write an article that will make the public feel like they 'know him'. Knowing him is torture. I cannot put innocent fans through that.

Why was I _ever _excited to work here?

* * *

A/N: So? Please let me know what you thought and if you consider it an idea worth continuing!

Though, to be honest, even if everyone says they hate it I will probably still write it, because... I have no self-control.

Review if you've ever dreamed of working somewhere with an indoor waterfall :)


	2. Cannonball

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, I'm glad people are interested in this story! It's quite fun to write I must admit :D

_Stones taught me to fly_  
_Love, it taught me to lie_  
_Life, it taught me to die_  
_So it's not hard to fall_  
_When you float like a cannonball_

_ -Cannonball, Damien Rice_

_

* * *

_

Scorpius Malfoy was _tainting _my beautiful new office. Though I had only spent a few hours in said office, I was already starting to consider it a safe haven in this madhouse, the best thing about this nightmarish job. Until his Highness, Sir Malfoy, made himself perfectly at home by sprawling himself out in _my _chair and putting his filthy, more-expensive-than-two-months-rent-on-my-apartment shoes up on _my _desk. You know, just because somebody was voted 'sexiest star in sports' by WonderWitch magazine does _not _give them the right to defile private property!

Although, I suppose it's not exactly _private _property, seeing as how it belongs to the Cannons, and not me personally, but… that is so far from the point. The point being that Scorpius Malfoy is a despicable human being with worse manners than a rabid cave troll. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.

Once he had ignored my polite (yet perhaps slightly tense) requests that he remove his feet from my desk and his arse from my chair, ignored my _demands _that he do the above-mentioned things, and finally, ignored me physically trying to _remove _his limbs from my possessions, I came to the conclusion that I was so completely out of my league. There was no way I had the stubbornness required to compete with a mule like this one.

So, scowling and muttering choice curses under my breath, I sat down in the visitor's chair. In my own _office. _It was slightly degrading. But there was nothing else for it than to get down to business and to do my very best to get this crapstorm over with as soon as physically possible.

"So," I began, "It's great to see that you are just as full of yourself as you used to be. I just _hate _how some people let fame change them."

To which he simply grinned, put his hands behind his head and snickered, "Oh, how I've missed you, Rosie. Your utter disdain for me is so… _refreshing. _Where would the world be without girls like you to look down on every aspect of it?"

(_Excuse _me, I am a _woman, _thank you very much!)

I responded by doing the _mature _thing and ignoring this comment altogether. I instead opted to pull out my Quickquotes Quill and parchment and try to form some semblance of a professional interview.

"Mr. Malfoy, the clear question in everyone's mind is, of course, _what _was it that made you leave Falmouth and join the Cannons?" I looked at him expectantly. He had snorted rather unattractively when I addressed him as 'Mr. Malfoy'.

"Well, to be perfectly honest, Miss Weasley, I thought my intentions were more than clear," he drawled, "there was no way I could stay at Falmouth when I learned _you _would be _here." _

To which my Quickquotes Quill scribbled, 'Mr. Malfoy admits his desire to be close to the young and beaming Miss Weasley. Will she return his affections?'

Stupid thing. I would snap it in half, burn the pieces and then toss the ashes into the Great Lake at Hogwarts to be eaten by the Giant Squid if I didn't need it to finish this blasted interview. And even though I _knew _that Malfoy was just being a jerk, and obviously he had no way of knowing I would be here, I couldn't help the angry bolt that went through me. Why did he always have to try and ruin _everything _that might be good for me?

Like this interview. He came up with a bullshit answer to every _single _question I asked him, from, 'tell Cannon fans something about yourself that they wouldn't expect' (that he had been born a centaur and been miraculously cured at St. Mungo's before he was two days old) to 'What do you think is the secret to you becoming such a successful seeker?' (that he never wears underwear when he plays. Apparently it gives him 'an edge'. I have no idea _how, _all I know is that it made me blush against my will to be thinking of things like that, and that there was no way I could publish that answer)

What had I ever done to deserve this?

I could only shudder at what Loboutin would do and say when he realized that I had absolutely zero true, publishable material for this 'big, exclusive article'. Thinking about it filled me with such dread and, dare I say it, fear, that my eyes actually started to tear up and my bottom lip started to tremble. Malfoy looked slightly alarmed, and exclaimed, "Are you _crying? _What are you crying for? Come on, that last answer was funny, you gotta admit, hey, s-stop it! Er, here!"

And handed me a potted plant. My own potted plant, that he grabbed from the top of my own desk. What the hell? Was that supposed to make me feel better about the fact that I was sure to be fired before I had even lasted a day at the job I was so utterly ecstatic to start? The ridiculousness of the entire situation (that I was crying out of sheer frustration at Malfoy, who was completely oblivious to how crazy he was making me and passed me a damn _potted plant _to try and make me feel better) hit me and I started to giggle. Before the tears had even entirely stopped. And I could vaguely hear Malfoy, in the background, spouting, "That's it, you're absolutely bonkers, are you happy or sad? I can never tell with you _women."_

Which made me laugh all the harder, until I was crying again, this time with laughter. Malfoy was looking at me, totally perplexed, and the wide-eyed, confused little boy look on his face did nothing to stop my terrible case of the giggles. He finally declared, "Well. Clearly you don't need me here anymore, so I'm just going to, er, excuse myself before you have another mood swing and decide you want to toss me out the window."

Well. Goodbye then. It's not like I needed him anyway. When I finally calmed down, the brilliant thought occurred to me that I could just invent an article! No one would know that not a single answer had actually come from Malfoy himself. I couldn't believe that that had never occurred to me before!

Although… after several minutes of staring blankly at my parchment I realized why. _I _had no idea how to answer these questions. I don't have a clue how Malfoy is already the best seeker in the world, unless it's just pure talent, I don't know anything nice I can say about him that Cannons fans 'wouldn't expect', and I certainly haven't got a clue why he would leave the third-ranked team in the League, predicted to make it to the World Cup Final this year, to come _here. _We don't even make the Preliminaries.

_What _was I going to do?

I didn't have time to come up with a plan before I was visited, once again, by Loboutin. I think I should set a maximum for how many times he is allowed to stop by my office per day. Three is obviously too much; I am over my limit already.

"Staff party, tonight, to celebrate the new addition to our team. The Cannons are _so _about the make their comeback! Anyway. 8 PM. The Headquarters Foyer. Your presence is mandatory. Oh, and, Weasley, this is a formal event. _Please _don't embarrass me." And stormed out again. I closed my eyes and tried to think happy thoughts. 'You are on a beautiful beach, on a tropical island, birds are singing in harmony, a studly blond man with rock-hard seeker abs is rubbing suntan lotion on your back-'

Are you serious? Loboutin was back _already? _For Merlin's sake, this was getting ridiculous! "What are you doing? Open your eyes, you half-wit, while I'm speaking to you. Office is closed tomorrow, due to this celebration. Tomorrow is now a Cannon Holiday, known as 'The Day After We Landed the Best Seeker in the World Day'. I want that article on my desk by 9 AM on Wednesday."

Did he really call me a half-wit? Isn't that some kind of verbal abuse? I am definitely, _definitely _a whole wit. What a jerk.

But… he did come bearing good news. This stupid, made-up stat Holiday was giving me a full extra 24 hours to come up with some kind of personal article! Thank you, whoever blessed me with this miracle. Which I guess is probably the General Manager, the owner, and all of the Directors, because they didn't want to have to come into work tomorrow hungover.

My day just brightened slightly. This is the worst, yet somehow the richest Quidditch Franchise in the League.

There was _sure _to be an open bar.

* * *

I must admit, I love a good party. And so far, from what I've seen, the Cannons can throw one Hell of a party. Maybe _that's _why Malfoy decided he needed to play here. Of course, just hanging out in the Foyer gives me eternal bliss, but this was even _better _because I was _supposed _to be there, and people weren't giving me 'what on earth are you doing just staring, do we need to have security escort you out' looks. Not to mention that the only two things I love in this world more than this room are free food and free liquor. And there was plenty of both.

There were little tables set up all over the place with everything from chocolate fondue to little mini lambchops. I felt like I was dreaming, and when I found out I could get however many shots of Firewhiskey I wanted without paying, I knew I must be. Not to mention that when I had gone home at the end of the longest day of work in history and started to get ready for this ridiculous extravaganza, my hair decided to _co-operate. _Which never happens. Things are clearly turning around for me already.

Except… Well, the thing is, I didn't really _know _anyone there. I didn't exactly wanna go hang out with Loboutin, who had consumed _way_ too much Butterbeer (which is quite a sissy drink for someone of his brawn, I was quite surprised) and was currently half-passed out in some girl's lap while she stroked his hair and told him how 'ahh-mazing' she thought he was. Yeah, okay, ew.

And I knew Malfoy, (joy of joys) but as he was the 'Guest of Honor' at this event he hardly had any time to breathe let alone say hi to lowlives like me. So I just wandered around, admiring the beauty of the room, admiring the waterfall and how it seemed _alive _(okay, yes, I'd had a few shots at this point) and eating every yummy thing I saw. And then getting self-conscious when two stick-thin girls looked at me disapprovingly over their 'low-fat honey-free Mead' or whatever.

After about an hour and a half of this, I was ready to pass out from sheer boredom and exhaustion. I was _more _than ready to leave, though I felt it was a shame to waste a 'good-hair night' opportunity like this one. They really don't come around that often, you know.

I went to get my jacket, and got the shock of my life when, as I grabbed it, something grabbed _me. _ I let out a piercing shriek, which was quickly muffled as I was pulled into the mass of various fabrics that was the coat closet.

"Shush shush shush Weaseleasely! Someone might _hear _you!"

"Malfoy? What the _Hell _are you doing in a coat closet?"

"_Hiding. _ Stop making _noise _or I will be forced to expel you from my lair."

Clearly Loboutin and myself were not the only two who were intoxicated this evening. I kind of just gawked at him; I really had nothing to say to that. Would you?

"Weasley," he looked into my eyes very meaningfully, "We need to _ex-sape. _From this room of Doom." He proceeded to pull an unopened bottle of Firewhiskey out from behind him, and grinned wickedly. "Come _on _my weasel, it's time to be freeeee!"

Once he started waving it around his head like it was some kind of flag or banner, I couldn't help myself; I started to cackle. When I am even slightly intoxicated, my laugh switches from the 'girlish giggle' to the 'evil cackle of death'. While it is somewhat embarrassing, and I often wish it wasn't happening, I was far too amused by Malfoy being even more smashed then I was to really care.

I made a swipe for the bottle, but missed it by basically half a milimetre. Malfoy then shouted, "HA! If you want it, you'll have to catch me, le master of running!"

And he proceeded to sprint from the closet at full speed, stumbling slightly over his own feet.

And I thought to myself, why waste a perfectly good hair night? Maybe there was still some fun to be had here. I hurried to catch up; I'm not exactly a professional athlete like he is! I saw his shiny blonde head weaving in and out of the various guests at an impossible speed. I was running as fast as I could to catch up, cackling all the way, and trying to take my uncomfortable heels off without slowing down, let alone stopping.

He slipped through one of the thousands of doors in the Foyer, into the PR Department. By the time I made it through the door, he was lounging near the staircase with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Weezy, let's _go," _he pouted, "You are so slow you are almost undeserving to drink my baby!" By baby, I assume he meant his beloved Whiskey, but the sentence just sounded so ludicrous that I burst into the dreaded laugh once more.

"Come on," he urged, "I'm leaving without you!" And he bolted up the stairs. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, and by the time we had reached our destination, (which was, of course, my floor) I could barely breathe and my face was so flushed that I could just _tell _it was clashing terribly with my hair. We stumbled into my beautiful, beloved office, and then promptly crashed onto the floor.

* * *

Three hours later, Malfoy's baby was completely empty and had been tossed out the window, like he had feared I would do to him not 12 hours earlier. We lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and trying to speak in sentences that made any sense whatsoever.

"You know what I _always _wanted?" I declared, "I always wanted my own blast-ended skrewert."

"_What?" _He snorted, "Ewww why? They're so _heinous! _ And evil evil evil!"

"I jus… I just feel so _bad _for them you know, _no_body likes them, you would be sad if nobody like YOU!"

"They're bugs they don't feel sad! You're a loon that's what you are. A loonie loon who sings a tune that goes: 'wheeeen I was a young lad from Scarborough...' Yeah. That's wha _you _are."

"I am _not! _I am _not not not! _How dare you say so to me. I am a dinified, distinguished young lady with much better manners than _you, you _put your smelly feet on my desk!"

"I did not!" He looked absolutely appalled. "My feet are right _here, _on the _floor, _with the rest of me! And they are not _smelly. _Are they? Smell them! I demand!"

He then tore off his shoe and stuck his foot to his face. And then tried to press his foot to _my _face.

"Ick! Icky ick get your fishy foot outta here! AAAHHH!" I swatted his foot away and leaped (er, sort of) off the floor. I decided that it would be a brilliant idea to go back to my favourite Foyer and eat some tasty baby cheesecakes. If there were any left. Which there had better be, otherwise shit was going _down. _I streaked all the way back to the Foyer with Malfoy hot on my tail, carrying one shoe and still yelling at me to smell his foot.

However, upon bursting extremely ungracefully into the foyer, I discovered that there were no baby cheesecakes to be had. In fact, there were no tasty little snacks at all, because everyone was gone and all the tables had been cleared away. The Foyer seemed sort of spooky all abandoned, with the only lights coming from the waterfall, which was glowing in a rather eerie, yet beautiful way.

The waterfall.

It just looked so _pretty. _And so cold, and I was so _hot, _I'd done so much running, and wouldn't it be nice to just jump in and play in it for a little while?

Bad, bad, intoxicated brain.

But of course, I listened to it. How could I not? I was plastered, and I just loved the waterfall so much, and when was I ever gonna get a chance like this again, where there was no one around to yell at me for it?

"Scorpy… Let's _swim!" _ And I jumped into the shallow pool at the bottom of the cascading waterfall. It was absolutely bloody freezing, but I was undeterred. And apparently, so was Scorpius, as he quickly stumbled in after me and worked on getting as wet as possible as fast as possible. I ran under the spray and gasped; it was just so _cold! _But somehow, standing frozen and drunk in the waterfall with Scorpius, who was playing around like a little kid, I had never felt so alive.

And then he started to splash me, and the war began. I was losing terribly, mostly I just squealed, "Stop! Stop!" But I was laughing so hard that of course he pretended not to hear me. I tried to tackle him into the pool, but he was just so much bigger than me, and I ended up pressed against his chest, and his arms went around my waist and he was just so _warm _in all of this cold, and I felt giddy and lightheaded and _happy. _

And then he leaned in, and I woke up from my daze, and realized what was going on. That this was _Scorpius Malfoy, _my age-old rival, the man who had reduced me to tears of frustration earlier that day, the man who was an international superstar who I now _work _with.

And I panicked.

"I have to… I have to go… feed my cat." I mumbled (even though I _technically _don't even have a cat, he doesn't need to know that).

He quickly let go of me and stepped back a good three feet, but still uttered, "Noo no no you cannot apparate like this! We must walk to my flat, it's _three _blocks. Plus one. That's four blocks."

I eyed him warily, not entirely comfortable with drunkenly going to a man's flat, yet knowing that if I tried to apparate I _would _probably end up splinched. So I agreed, and we hobbled the three plus one blocks to his flat. The second we got there, I spied his couch and dove into it headfirst.

And promptly passed out.

* * *

When I woke up in the morning, it was to a small army of elephants stampeding on top of my head. I groggily sat up, and took a minute to get my bearings. Where was I, again?

Oh, right. In the enemy's lair. Although, after last night, I'm not sure I can totally count him as the enemy anymore. He did save me from being splinched, and gave me a blanket while I was sleeping. Though, he did _not _make me breakfast, which was slightly disappointing. Where was he, anyway?

Further inspection of the flat informed me that he was not in it. I did, however, find a letter addressed to me on the kitchen counter, which I found slightly intriguing. I opened it up, and I never could have expected what I found. I'm not sure what it made me feel, but whatever it was was so strong that I nearly started to cry again. Was it… gratitude? Relief? Just plain old happiness? Whatever it was, I decided I didn't need to give it a name. All I needed was the letter in front of me, in which Malfoy had enclosed all of the questions I had asked him yesterday with real, proper, lengthy answers.

Such as, 'tell Cannon fans something about yourself that they wouldn't expect'

_Most Cannons fans probably wouldn't expect to hear that I first decided I wanted to be a seeker when I was seven years old, after seeing a live Cannons game and watching Vinny Turble, the seeker at the time, catch the snitch and steal what looked like a lost game._

And then, 'what do you think is the secret to you becoming such a successful seeker?'

_Honestly, there isn't really a 'secret'. I care about the game, and I care about making myself the best at it that I can be. But mostly, I think I was just lucky enough to be kinda good at it._

And finally, 'the clear question in everyone's mind is, of course, _what _was it that made you leave Falmouth and join the Cannons?'

_I wanted to be part of a team that was really a team. The Falcons, while they are a highly skilled team, are much more concerned about individual player glory, and winning for the money it will bring in. Quidditch is more than a moneymaking machine for me, and I was sick of feeling like winning was the only thing that mattered._

_-I'm sorry._

_SM_

_PS That last answer is complete bs, but it seemed like something fans would gobble up. I, obviously, love to win._

_

* * *

_

A/N: I've always wanted to swim drunk in a waterfall, so I am living vicariously through Rose. Also, I hope I will still be able to update quickly, but I may be a bit slower than usual as I just got a new puppy who requires constant attention and supervision! I have time for nothing else :P

Review if you've ever cried tears of stress. Or of laughter. Or of gratitude. :)

Like I will if you review.


	3. Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

A/N: Thanks for all the feedback, reviews make me do numerous little happy dances upon reading them.

_I know I can't slow down,_  
_I can't hold back,_  
_Though you know, I wish I could_  
_No there ain't no rest for the wicked,_  
_Until we close our eyes for good_

_-Ain't No Rest for the Wicked, Cage the Elephant

* * *

_

I arrived at the Headquarters Wednesday morning with a newfound bounce in my step. Which was a far cry from where I had been yesterday, upon dealing with the world's longest and most persistent hangover. But _today, _today I crossed the threshold of my office, on time, in a lovely and professional pant suit (can't have Loboutin ogling my legs again, can I?) and was prepared to greet the day with enthusiasm and joy. Which is more or less how I am all the time. Er, sort of.

I'll admit, I was feeling rather pleased with myself. I had Malfoy's interview all ready to hand in, and I must say it was rather smashing. I asked some excellent questions, if I do say so myself. I was particularly proud of, 'Are you excited to meet your new fans, now that you have taken up residence here in Chudley?' To which he gushed about how much fans mean to him and blah blah blah, how he wants to be an inspiration to all young Quidditch players and fans.

I have to hand it to Sir Malfoy. He's quite a capable liar. I mean, the majority of the answers seem like complete bogus to someone like myself who knows how self-centered and difficult he is, but to naïve fans he seems the model athlete to root for. With the whole, 'leaving one of the best teams in the league to play for the underdog because he believes there is more to life than winning' thing. Because Malfoy is so _not _that guy, the guy who does things the hard way because he feels it's _right. _As if. He'd basically had everything handed to him his whole life, and his motto all through Hogwarts was to 'never ever _ever _do more work than is absolutely necessary'.

But making fans fall in love and invest in him (and, therefore, boost sales) is basically the whole point of my job, so perhaps I should have been lying on the ground kissing his feet and declaring myself eternally indebted to him, instead of being somewhat bitter at how everyone was just going to _adore _him, completely buy his entire charade of being such a sweet, thoughtful man. Blech.

Not to mention that I was thoroughly confused about where we stood after the random and short burst of semi-friendship that had occurred the night of the 'All Hail Scorpius Malfoy' party. It would seem that drowning in Firewhiskey made all of his faults much less difficult to deal with, and I found myself actually enjoying his company, which is one thing I can honestly say I never expected happening in all of time. And, okay, to be fair, it _is _rather nice to see a familiar face around here. Even if we bickered to the point of me nearly ending his life on more than one occasion while we were at school, at least I _know _him.

That night, he had kind of felt a bit like a lifeline, making me feel so much less alienated and overwhelmed than I would have otherwise.

Not that I would ever, _ever, _tell _him _that.

I'm terribly confused about what happened at the end of the night/the next morning. First there was the waterfall 'moment' (which had leaked out of my memory, only to return with full force while I was trying to cure my hangover with hot, black coffee. The cure probably would have worked if it weren't for said memory, which caused me to suddenly jerk in recollection and spill my valuable coffee all over myself and my counter, further ruining an already icky day).

What _was _that, anyway? I _swear _he was leaning in, and we were awfully close, but what if my mind is just playing tricks on me and screwing up my depth perception or something, and there wasn't even a moment in the first place? Which would be for the best anyway, because I have no interest in having 'moments' with strapping young Quidditch stars. Well, actually, that does sounds slightly appealing… Put it this way, I have no interest in having 'moments' with a co-worker who is an infuriating prick, no matter how strapping he may be.

But then, even if my soggy brain completely fabricated whatever happened in the waterfall, there was still the situation with the proper interview he had written, and him taking care of me when I passed out unceremoniously on his comfy leather sofa. As far as I know, enemies don't ensure that other enemies have simple comforts such as blankets while sleeping on their sofas. Or even let enemies sleep on their sofas at all.

'Oh, Merlin,' I thought to myself despairingly as I sat at my lovely, shiny desk doing absolutely no work whatsoever, 'perhaps I should just avoid him for the rest of my career here. That would be the most effective solution.'

I tried to convince myself that it would be imperative to seek him out some time in the near future and let him know how thankful I am that, while holding my career in his hands, he decided I should keep my job, yet the majority of me was rather set on not ever seeing him again if I could help it.

I _couldn't. _Because the more I thought about last night the more lost I felt, and the more I just sort of wished it had never happened because then I could go back to telling everyone that Malfoy had no redeeming qualities whatsoever, and I wouldn't feel so… _indebted _to him. Which is ridiculous, because if he had just given me straight answers the first time around there would have been no need for him to go out of his way to write the interview for me.

It was all his own fault, really.

I clearly needed to distract myself. Getting worked up over conflicting feelings for Scorpius Malfoy was a complete waste of my time; I am very busy and important. I had much better things to think about. Such as, the fact that I had missed breakfast in my sincere effort to be on time. With that in mind, I set off to the cafeteria in the hopes of finding a sesame bagel while simultaneously killing forty minutes. It's a big building, I tell you.

However, upon my return, (thankfully with a full stomach, otherwise I would have been getting quite grouchy) I found _him _sitting behind my desk. And of _course _his muddy Quidditch cleats were resting on the smooth, _polished_ surface.

"I'm honestly curious," he started, "at just _how _you managed to get such an ostentatious office when you are at the very bottom of the proverbial food chain."

"_I'm _honestly curious to know if you are even aware of what half those words meant, and just _why _you think it is acceptable to let yourself in to said office and make yourself at home when you are not at all welcome."

I actually managed to say all of that in one angry breath, in the hopes of getting rid of his presence as soon as physically possible.

"Oh, come on now Rosie, I thought we were _friends. _I just swung by to ask how your day has been so far." He looked at me far too innocently; I was instantly suspicious.

I warily responded, "I suppose it has been alright, as far as Wednesdays go."

"Well, that's just _excellent _for you and everything, but if you must know, mine has been _awful. _I had my first practice with my new team members this morning, and in all honesty, they are just absolutely _dreadful-_"

"What makes you think I care about _any _of this?" I interrupted in irritation, "I have _work _to do, you can't just come in here and complain about how the team that you _chose _to join isn't up to your standards!" Perhaps my outburst was a bit uncalled for, but, really, I was not about to let Malfoy badmouth my beloved Cannons! Where was his sense of team loyalty?

The cad just blinked at me and continued as if I hadn't spoken, "Well, anyways, I suppose I was beating around the bush slightly, because what I did come to say was that, er, you may need to do some damage control _rapido." _ And there was that damned innocent look again, the one that screamed trouble from a mile away.

"What do you mean, _damage control?" _In and out, Rosie. Anger management, just keep breathing…

"Well, er, it's quite a funny story actually, but, you know, these things happen, I _am_ quite new to this city and, as such, I don't think a night out on the town is _that _inexcusable really, and I was hardly expecting photographers to be around at that time of night, I rather figured they would be sleeping or shacking up or doing _anything _infinitely more entertaining than following a bloke around taking snapshots-"

"Just what are these supposed snapshots _of, _Malfoy? You do realize that every time you have a 'night out on the town' you are representing this Franchise!" I simply stared at him in disbelief. How was I required to be doing 'damage control' for a man who had been a part of this team for less than forty-eight hours?

"Just, you know, the usual business, out and about in pubs with the liquor and the ladies and whatnot. I'm sure there's no evidence of anything _too _bad, but really you should be _thanking _me, here I am going out of my way to give you a head's up! _And _I am making your job infinitely easier by knowing that the prick who took the pictures is from Quidditch Weekly. I recognized him from the mauling in the Press Room on Monday, he was right up at the front the _whole _time." He looked at me as though he really, honestly expected me to shower him in gratitude. I was too shocked that he had the stamina to get completely plastered two nights in a row and then show up to an early morning practice and somehow still be alive. It also didn't escape my notice that Malfoy had said there was no _evidence_ of anything bad. Not that he hadn't _done_ anything bad.

"You are _kidding _me right now. Do you have any idea how much extra work this is for me?" (And okay, yes, technically I didn't have all that much work to do today, but that does not take away from the fact that I was thoroughly _enjoying _not having much to do) "I'm not a _simpleton, _Malfoy, I know what you want. I know that you want me to stop any of these pictures from going to print, _and _that you want this to stay off the radar of the people who are in charge of your paycheck. You will _owe _me for this."

I could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he weighed his options. On the one hand, I knew he had absolutely no desire to _owe _me anything, but on the other hand, getting caught 'being rowdy' is not at all the image he wanted to portray; it would ruin his plan of being worshipped by the entire population.

"Fine. What do you want?"

_Success._

I may have been blushing slightly, but I managed to voice my wish all the same, "I want you to introduce me to Josh O'Riley."

"The _keeper? _What do you wanna know _him_ for? I'll tell you right now, he's awful, you should spare yourself the physical pain of seeing him in action."

How dare he! Josh was excellent! (ish)

"Look, Malfoy, do you want me to do this for you or not?"

"Well, I _suppose _I do, but really, can't you just meet him on your own? You _work _here now, what do you need _me _to do?" He whined.

"I can't just _go up to him, _that's so terribly awkward, I need you to give us a formal introduction! And say lots of nice things about me so he'll want to get to know more!" I said eagerly.

"So, basically, I'm your pimp."

Well. There was no need to put it like that. I much preferred 'matchmaker'. And I told him so, before I made him swear on his mother's cat's life that he would keep his promise and hurried him out of my office. After all, I had plenty of persuading to do to get 'the Quidditch Weekly Prick' to agree to burn all evidence of the incriminating photos so that I could get on with my starcrossed romance with Josh O'Riley. He was just so _cute, _with his lovable dimples and his wavy hair that looked dangerously soft… He was basically a perfect specimen of a human being. I just had a _feeling _that we would have an instant sort of chemistry between us when I finally got to meet the real him.

After further consideration, however, I changed my mind. I didn't want Quidditch Weekly Prick to burn the photos. I wanted him to send them to my office. I didn't care if curiosity killed the cat or the bunny or the innocent witch; I _had _to see these.

* * *

A/N: Usually I try to update every other day, so this chapter was rather late and not all that long... But hopefully it was enjoyed regardless!

Also, I have no idea if people wear cleats when they play Quidditch. Most likely not. Oh well.

Review if you've ever had a crush on someone you have never met :)


	4. Superstar

A/N: Okay.. So I honestly cannot believe how long it took me to post this! I guess summer came to an end and real life hit me. I just started University, and I think that updates are going to be much much slower now that I have responsibilities and other crappy things like that taking up all of my valuable writing time! A thousand humble apologies for the long wait!

_So dim that spotlight, tell me things like_  
_I can't take my eyes off of you_  
_I'm no one special, just another wide-eyed girl_  
_Who's desperately in love with you_  
_Give me a photograph to hang on my wall_  
_Superstar_

_-Superstar, Taylor Swift_

_

* * *

_

Waiting to be introduced to the single most adorable male specimen on the planet can be, needless to say, extremely stressful. Today was the day that I would officially meet my future husband, and I had spent the first three hours of my work-day _fretting. _ I was constantly running my fingers through my hair and trying to keep it sleek despite its incurable desire to frizz out, and alternating between doing my zen deep breathing exercises and squeezing my stress ball. None of these tactics, however, seemed to have any effect at calming my frazzled nerves.

It came to me that the only thing that could keep the thought of coming face to face with Josh O'Riley out of my mind temporarily was to focus on just how angry I was at Scorpius Malfoy and his complete lack of respect for not only his responsibility to represent my franchise in a positive manner, but also his general disregard for the female sex as a whole. And yes, I said my franchise. I took the time, whilst studiously ignoring getting to work on the piece I was supposed to be editing regarding Kyle Stevenson, one of the chasers, and his recent charity donation to an organization dedicated to the saving of chimaeras, to describe, in detail, exactly the kind of man that Scorpius Malfoy truly is. I came up with:

_Manwhore: __A Manwhore is a male that has several key attributes. A typically young (18-25) male who dresses in designer clothing, has become a master of manipulating women, and makes it his personal mission to sleep with as many different women as possible qualifies as a manwhore. He also has virtually no emotional attachment to any of his victims. The reputation of manwhore makes gaining new potential victims somewhat difficult, so most manwhores are forced to switch territories and stomping grounds frequently. However, even in familiar environments, many manwhores can continue to get laid by playing the "I'm misunderstood" or "I'm just pissed and acting out over a bad breakup" card. A true master in both deception and cunning, a manwhore is any 'good girls' worst nightmare come true._

Truer words were never spoken. If Malfoy does not learn how to control himself in public and _not _be photographed appearing for all the world to see as a shameless carpenter, i.e a man who wants to nail everything in sight, he is going to find himself in danger of blowing through his Quidditch fortune far too quickly. For the moment, I suppose he should just be satisfied with the knowledge that money does, indeed, solve all problems.

I was able to secure the incriminating photos from the Quidditch Weekly photographer by, to put it simply, paying him off. Er, with Malfoy's money. Which he was initially not too happy with, but after much comforting and convincing on my part he was brought to his senses and the conclusion that he would rather be ten thousand galleons poorer than unemployed. Which, frankly, is not what I would have chosen to do, because I cannot even _imagine _having ten thousand galleons and all that I could accomplish if I possessed such wealth.

Well, I sort of can, because my parents are not exactly what one would call 'low-income', but since making the decision that I would become my own, independent woman and no longer rely on their resources, I have rather forgotten what it was like to be privileged, to live in a home rather than a run-down apartment, to be able to simply purchase anything that caught my eye without ever even stopping to consider how much it cost.

Not that I was spoiled, or anything. I mean, yes, maybe my parents did shower me with anything I'd ever wanted, but I worked for it! I did _chores! _

But anyway. That's not what I was trying to say. What was really on my mind was how completely irresponsible and inconsiderate it was of Malfoy to go gallivanting around all of the nightclubs in Chudley, drinking beers at 'The Unicorn' and doing bodyshots off of some stripper-type skeletor at 'Le Météore'. Or being seen smoking something very suspicious-looking whilst stumbling along the sidewalk, in _public, _on his way back to his swanky penthouse apartment. With approximately the fifth different girl he had been photographed with.

Not that I counted. Or cared that her legs were ten feet long and she probably wore size -4 and had shiny blonde hair that didn't even look fake, and her name was probably Foxy or Vivica or something else somewhat exotic yet totally gag-worthy.

I reminded myself that it was totally logical for me to be angry. Pissed-off. Infuriated. Ready to shove Malfoy and 'Vivica' off a cliff so that they could live happily ever after in Hell together. Erm.

I wasn't over-reacting at all, honestly. Malfoy was just behaving in much the same way that he always had, by being completely and totally self-centered and impulsive and, well, slutty. Personally, I just don't understand how someone can just _spend the night _with a person they have just met! I suppose I'm old-fashioned and so un-hip and all that, but really, isn't it supposed to have any romantic feelings attached to it at all? I know sex is enjoyable and everything, Peter Van Gordon taught me so in seventh year when I snuck him into the Heads Dorm on numerous occasions. The sex was really the only successful part of our relationship, to be honest, and by the time we fell apart it was the only aspect I actually missed.

But at the time, I had _feelings _for him, I fancied myself in love for a while. I could _never _just prance off to the pub, find a man, bring him home and let him ravish me! And then, what, never speak to him again? Just be completely used for one night of pleasure?

Well. Unless the one night of pleasure was with Josh O'Riley. Then, I may just have to make an exception. As aggravated as I was with Malfoy, I decided perhaps it would be best to try and let go of some of that anger, as he had promised to introduce me to the future father of my children. I checked my watch again, for the seventh time in four minutes, and wondered just _when_ Malfoy was going to show up and whisk me away to meet my Prince Charming.

When I saw the door to my office begin to open, seemingly in slow motion, my heart stopped and I leaped to my feet in a flurry, more than ready to get down to business – only to find that it was not my loyal matchmaker Malfoy, but rather, the devil himself, Loboutin. Awkwardness ensued upon my realization that I was once again in a rather form fitting skirt, wanting to make a good impression for Josh, obviously, I didn't want to show up wearing suit pants like some stuffy old grandmother type! I needed him to see me in a romantic light, so I was wearing one of those skirts that my father wouldn't have let me leave the house in if he had spotted it.

And, with the way Loboutin was leering, I started to think perhaps dear Ron had a point. Skirts were a bad, bad invention and I vowed to never step into one again as long as I lived, God willing the creep would just quit looking at me in such a way that I felt like bugs were crawling all over my skin. He had apparently come to check on my progress on the Stevenson article, which I had, of course, not even started. Which led Loboutin into yet another tirade regarding my utter lack of intelligence and drive.

"Weasley," he started off, "Just _what _do you think we hired you to do here? Sit at your desk and look pretty for eight hours a day? Is that really all you can bring to this company?"

"I… I, er, I've just been a little distracted, this morning, Sir, but I assure you it will be finished before I leave this evening!"

"Of course it will, because if it isn't you will have, once again, failed to meet the very low expectations I had for you."

Was it really necessary for him to be so _close _to me when chewing me out? Couldn't he maybe do it from across the room, maybe down the hall? At least on the other side of my desk? I was feeling more and more claustrophobic the closer he got to me, and when he just kept getting into my personal space and I had no more room to back up, I started to feel a little panicked inside. I felt threatened, and worried, and the thought that he was so much bigger than me that there was no way for me to escape his suffocating presence just wouldn't go away. He had just opened his mouth to speak when –

"Alright, Weasley, let's get this over wi… Am I interrupting something?"

Who would have thought that there would come a time when I would honestly be happy to see Scorpius Malfoy?

Loboutin immediately stepped away, and gruffly said, "Remember what I said Weasley. You had better start getting things done." He nodded at Malfoy, who glared back, and stomped out of my office.

"What the Hell was that?"

"There's no need to _curse _Malfoy. It was nothing. Loboutin doesn't believe in personal space, apparently. It's not a big deal." Even though it kind of _was _a big deal, I had been getting severely uneasy, but I couldn't tell _Malfoy _that, I couldn't have him thinking he had burst in and _saved _me. I didn't need him.

His eyes were boring into mine, and I knew he was trying to tell whether or not I was lying. I stared back defiantly, and just prayed that he wouldn't see through my façade. Until… I had never really noticed just how _blue _his eyes were. They were the kind of blue that just makes you want to spout a bunch of poetic metaphors regarding how they resemble the cloudless sky, or the Mediterranean Sea. I had always considered them to be so cold, like shards of ice, but right then… they seemed soft. Concerned, even. And then the atmosphere changed, though we continued what had turned into a staring contest, and I didn't even understand what point I was trying to make by not looking away anymore.

And I don't think he did either. But he suddenly seemed to wake from his trance, looked away, cleared his throat, and muttered, "Alright Weasley, let's get going, I do have other things to be doing, you know." And marched out of my office without looking at me again.

He was striding briskly down the hall, and I had to hurry to catch up. This was quickly fouling my mood, as I had spent the majority of the morning assuring that I looked my absolute best, and the last thing I wanted was to meet Josh O'Riley after running for fifteen minutes! All red-faced and out of breath!

"Malfoy," I seethed, "Would you _slow down? _For Merlin's sake, this isn't really going to take up that much of your precious time."

He glared back at me, but I suppose he was simply too lazy to argue, as he ground out, "Fine. But I am not giving you one minute over an hour to get through all of this pimping, and that includes travel time. So take as long as you want."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Hadn't I already kindly asked him not to call it pimping?

We spent the rest of the winding journey down to the practice pitch in aggravated silence. I had been so focused on being annoyed with Malfoy on the way there that I hadn't really been thinking about what was about to happen, and how I was about to really meet the man I'd been dreaming and fantasizing about since he joined the Cannons when I was sixteen.

And then all of my panic returned at full force. What if I couldn't think of anything to say? What if I, God forbid, I tried to say something funny and he thought I was a complete nutjob? What if he thought I was _ugly? _What if he didn't even have time to talk to me?

The pitch came into view, and I saw his silhouette flying laps around the goal hoops, and I couldn't breathe.

"Wait," I gasped, "Wait, wait, I need a second to calm down!"

"You have got to be kidding me," Malfoy just looked at me in disbelief, "_what _has gotten into you?"

"I'm about to meet my future _husband! _It's nerve-wracking!"

"You _cannot _be serious. You think _that _guy is your future husband? Really? You've never even spoken to him before!"

Well. That was awfully judgemental. "It doesn't _matter _Malfoy, we have a deep connection that I can sense without needing words. I wouldn't expect _you _to understand." I sniffed.

"_Women." _he muttered, shaking his head. He no longer looked disbelieving or incredulous, but rather just amused, with a stupid smirk on his face.

I'll admit that his amusement at my expense threw me off slightly, and made me even more edgy than I already was. I once again turned to my zen breathing exercises, and focused on simply not passing out when I saw Josh wave at Malfoy, begin his descent, and then head towards us. My heart was beating so fast I thought it might up and leave my chest, and my hands were shaking slightly. This was it! The moment I had been waiting for!

The closer he got, the more beautiful he seemed to be. Oh, and he was smiling, and he just seemed like an angel walking through Heaven towards me. And no, I do not think that I am too obsessed. That's really what he seemed like.

And just when I was thinking that this was going to be the best day of my life, Malfoy opened his mouth and ruined everything, by spouting, "Hey, O'Riley, I want you to meet Rose Weasley. My girlfriend." And then he smirked his evil smirk of death, put his arm around me, and signed his own death wish.

Because I was _not _going to let him live through this.

* * *

A/N: PS the definition of manwhore was found on urbandictionary, because unfortunately I am not clever enough to come up with something like that on my own. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter even though it was so late and not very long and not very epic.

Review if you've ever needed zen breathing exercises :)


	5. Cute Without the 'E'

A/N: I have become my own worst enemy. I hate, _hate_ cliffhangers and suspense and having to wait to find out what happens, and I feel completely awful for doing that to you guys! I wish I could have done this so much sooner, but I have been so busy trying not to fail out of University that this had to go down on my list of priorities /3. But luckily, today I am so sore from cheer and also sick that I really can't bring myself to leave my room. Hence my finally being able to finish this chapter and post it.

_And will you tell all your friends  
You've got your gun to my head  
This all was only wishful thinking  
This all was only wishful thinking  
The only thing that I regret is that I, __I never let you hold me back_

_-Cute Without the 'E', Taking Back Sunday_

_

* * *

_

Anger. Fury. Shock. Disbelief. These were the feelings that coursed through my veins as the cursed phrase repeated itself ominously in my mind… _'My girlfriend. My girlfriend. Meet Rose Weasley, my girlfriend.' _I couldn't _breathe. _Through the murderous haze that was blurring my vision, I saw Josh grin at me and extend his hand.

"It's lovely to meet you, Rose," he said pleasantly.

"Yeah… Erm, yes, right, wonderful…" I trailed off, forgetting who I was and where I was and everything that had ever happened to me in my twenty years of life while gazing into his eyes, until I heard Malfoy snort a laugh at my expense and came plummeting back down to earth.

"Malfoy, may I please speak to you in _private?" _I grabbed his arm as fiercely as I possibly could and began to forcibly drag him to a secluded area where I could kill him and get away with it. As I was dragging the soon-to-be corpse along behind me, I heard Josh chuckle, "Malfoy, eh? How personal!" He had no idea how personal I was about to get with Malfoy. I was about to rip out his intestines through his nose. And then burn him at the stake just for laughs. My destination: the broom shed at the nearest corner of the pitch. I'm sure people just fall down dead in there all the time; it's treacherous. The floor is quite slippery, and there is always the possibility of the roof caving in. No one would suspect that Malfoy's death involved any 'foul play'…

I shoved him in before me, (just in case the floor _was _fatally slippery, you never know) and proceeded to slam the door behind me with enough force to make Grindelwald shake in his grave. And then I let loose on him, with a rant that sounded very much like, "What the - is the matter with you, you cannot just tell people we are _dating, _least of all someone like Josh, you _knew _how important this was to me, you are a complete - who has crawled out of Hell itself! I never knew anyone to be so -ing insensitive, let alone presumptuous! As _if _I would ever date you!"

I don't think it's entirely necessary to give detailed expletives in this case… my vocabulary was slightly shameful and I would rather not repeat it, thanks. I was slightly out of breath by the end of my tirade, and when he didn't seem all that fazed, I shoved his chest for good measure, just so he would understand how genuinely furious I was and that he should very much fear for his life. Though my shove barely caused him to even have to shift his footing, I took great pride in the widening of his eyes and the satisfying surprise on his face.

"Really?" he exclaimed, "really? You think this requires violence? I think you might be taking things a little far, Weasel, it's really _not _a big deal."

"Not… a big deal? Are you out of your - mind? No _way _will Josh have any romantic interest in me now, and not to mention, what if he _tells _people? These things have a way of spreading around, you know!"

He scoffed at me, and crossed his arms over his chest defensively, "Josh wasn't good for you anyway, so it hardly matters, and if the guys start chatting in the locker room I'll just make it clear that I've ditched you. Problem solved."

I think my brain may have imploded with rage. I was really, truly, seeing red. I pictured myself stabbing Malfoy with each and every racing broom in the shed with immense satisfaction as he writhed in pain… My parents say they've always expected that I have an extremely volatile temper.

"No. No. Absolutely not. I will _not _be chucked by you when I never even agreed to date you in the first place! That's humiliating! And second of all, it is _not _up to you decide who is 'good for me', _Father." _At this, I had the slight satisfaction of seeing his eyes darken as my anger began to infect him.

"Would you _please _stop acting like the world has ended? I said we were dating, big deal! If you want _Josh _to think you're available, I'll just _chuck you, _like I already said!" He was starting to raise his voice, and I was glad I wasn't the only one screaming. Even if he was accusing me of being a drama queen, and even if I was, I couldn't just _let this go. _It was a sneaky and underhanded thing to do, and it had been done out of pure spite. I wasn't going to let him step all over me and then make me feel like _I _was the bad guy.

"I don't know _where _you get off, Malfoy, thinking you can just butt into my life and screw it up so royally whenever you damn well please! How did you _think _I was going to react?" I was honestly in disbelief that he assumed I would not be upset by his charade.

"Well, excuse me," he sneered, "for trying to _help you. _I know Josh a lot better than you do, princess."

"Oh, oh, right, thank you, you're a real knight in shining armour, really, I'm so _lucky _to be dating a man like you." Sarcasm has never really been my forté, but I felt it was time I tried a different approach. Shrieking didn't seem to be getting me anywhere. Unfortunately, Malfoy decided to switch tactics too, and his change was much more effective in catching me entirely off guard.

"Has the thought of dating me _really _never crossed your mind?" Okay, now that was just unfair.

"Of _course _it hasn't!" _Liar._

I can't tell if he could read in my face that I was lying, or if he was just feeling spontaneous, or if he could smell victory… but regardless of his reasons, I couldn't stop him when he grabbed me and snogged me. And I didn't want to. Afterwards, I would curse myself for not pushing him away, for not slapping him silly, for encouraging him the way I did. But his lips were so _soft, _and I hadn't been properly snogged in quite some time, and I've never had much willpower to begin with. It causes me real, true pain to admit that Scorpius Malfoy may really be the best snogger on the entire planet. _Of course. _Because the Universe hates me.

He pulled away slowly, and whispered, "Maybe, now it will." And he left, just like that, leaving me alone in the dirty broom shed, staring stupidly at the door and trying to figure out what on _Earth _he was talking about. My thoughts were still slightly jumbled.

And then I remembered – maybe now the thought of dating him would cross my mind.

I slid down onto dusty floor, banged my head against the wall, and asked myself, once again, 'what the _crap _just happened?'

* * *

The next morning, as I sat forlornly at my desk, nursing my cup of coffee and trying with all of my might to stay awake, it occurred to me that perhaps being fired would not be the worst thing in the world. For one thing, I wouldn't have to get up at the crack of dawn, I could laze around in my boudoir until whenever I saw fit. Admittedly, I was not usually this rough in the mornings, but I'd had a rather sleepless night. I'll not say why. Figure it out for yourself. Second, I would never have to see Loboutin again. This can only be considered a gigantic plus, seeing as how he is creepy and sleazy as well as rude. And just gross in general.

And third… I wouldn't have to face Scorpius Malfoy.

And I know that it would be a travesty to let a boy (man?) run me out of a job. But I truly cannot fathom how I am supposed to face him, look him in the eye, speak to him, any of it, without just dying of embarrassment. I was far too vulnerable yesterday, and I did the unthinkable: I revealed that I have a weakness for him. Things could only go downhill from here.

However, I hadn't realized just how soon my world would implode. Loboutin crashed into my office, red-faced and furious, and slapped the newest copy of WonderWitch onto my desk. "Now I see what's been keeping you so busy that you have been unable to keep up with your feather-light workload." He gave me one look of utter disgust, shook his head, and exited my office with a loud slam of my door.

When I looked down at the magazine, I was in complete and utter disbelief at what I saw. _How _could information possibly travel so quickly, that in less than 24 hours mine and Malfoy's fake relationship had become front page news? I glared down at the headline, 'Seeking for Love no More' (really? That was the best they could do?) with enormous headshots of myself and dear Malfoy. I picked it up to toss it in the trash, but I couldn't help myself; I had to sneak a peek at the article. It read:

_New Cannon superstar, Scorpius Malfoy, didn't have to seek for long in Chudley before finding love. The young seeker, who was named rookie of the year last year as star of the Falmouth Falcons, is reportedly dating one Rose Weasley, an employee of the PR Department of Malfoy's new franchise. "It's getting quite serious," a source close to the couple reports, "they have known each other for years, but have only recently decided to take that next step." Family and friends reveal that the young lovers are the happiest they've ever been, and, though the relationship is in it's early stages, many see it going the distance. "They really are wonderful together," a source declares, "they complement each other beautifully, seeing how in love they are gives me hope that true love is really possible!" The power couple reportedly have plans to move in together –_

Speechless. I was more than speechless, actually, I was _thoughtless. _My mind was blown. _How _could this rumour have already spun so completely out of control? We were planning on moving in together? We've never been happier? I always knew that WonderWitch never had reliable information and that it would exaggerate every single story it printed, but really. This was over-the-top.

I looked sourly at the magazine one last time, then chucked it into my trashcan and promptly set it aflame. Which made me feel marginally better, until the family owl tapped on my window. I could clearly see the Howler attached to Ferrara's leg, and was so strongly tempted to simply leave her out there fluttering by the window until her wings collapsed and she fell to her death; but that would have been cruel. So I let her in, and gingerly took the Howler.

It was from my father.

Wonderful.

* * *

A/N: So it's not that long, and it's inexcusably late and I am terribly sorry, feel free to do African Voodoo on me as punishment.

Hopefully the kissing made up for it, but I am finding that I am just terrible at writing the snogging scenes, so if anyone has any suggestions or ways to improve them I would be so so grateful! (That was also partly just a shameless request for reviews :D)

I wish I didn't have a job, or have to go to school, so that I could just sit in my comfy bed and write stories all day.


	6. Blind

A/N: Yay! Update! So much earlier than before! You're welcome for not writing my first ever essay or studying for my first ever midterm. Thanks for the reviews, as always!

_After all this why_  
_Would you ever wanna leave it?_  
_Maybe you could not believe it_  
_That my love for you was blind_  
_But I couldn't make you see it__  
__That I loved you more than you will ever know_  
_A part of me died when I let you go_

_-Blind, Lifehouse_

_

* * *

_

I slammed my door shut and silenced my office as quickly as I could before unleashing my father's howling fury, and slumped down into my chair to simply wait for it to be over.

"Rose Weasley!" he bellowed, "I am in _shock _at the level of mutiny you have committed against your family! Not only did we have to learn about your new 'boyfriend' from a _magazine, _we also learned that this piece of slime that is putting his hands on you is none other than the son of my mortal enemy, the man your mother once punched in the face! Surely you understand the severity of the situation! You are not old enough to even be dating in the first place, let alone frolicking around with a boy like that!"

There was about five seconds of silence, which cruelly led me to believe that it was over. No such luck.

"Rosie," oh Merlin, now my _mother, _"I just don't understand how you could possibly think that something like this didn't need to be shared with your family! How can you be so serious about a boy that you are planning on moving in together, yet you _never _told us the two of you were involved? Your father and I feel very disrespected that you would keep us in the dark like this, and we are therefore hosting a mandatory family meeting this Saturday at noon. You _will _attend, young lady, and we will have a serious discussion about your judgment in this matter."

I stared, dumbfounded, down at the remains of the Howler. I thought that my parents, the saviours of the Wizarding world, had _some _wits about them. Enough for them to realize that _clearly _the story was misreported; of _course _I am not dating Malfoy! And really, a family meeting? What am I, five years old? I don't need to have a 'discussion about my judgment', if I want to date Malfoy then I damn well can! I'm a grown woman!

Er, not that I want to date him. Because I don't, obviously, anyone could see that, you know, it was just an example.

I don't even care that he's the best snogger in the history of the world. He probably imperiused my brain and forced me to enjoy the kiss, which is just despicable and there is no way I could ever be with a man who uses Unforgivable curses! I should send him to Azkaban.

(And no, this doesn't count as 'the idea of dating him crossing my mind')

Oh, pah. I have a staff meeting. Right now, that I am supposed to be attending… Oops. Malfoy is certainly nothing but bad news; causing a rift between me and my doting parents and now, forcing me to be late for an important meeting. What a tosspot.

* * *

_Merlin, _was the meeting boring. The first five minutes were tolerable, and then… I don't know what happened. You know that feeling you get when you are in the middle of something that you know could easily only take twenty minutes, but somehow ends up wasting an hour and a half? That's what this meeting was like. We went over the same things time and time again; I understand that our first match against the Winbourne Wasps is on Saturday, (right in the middle of my family meeting, oh drat, I was _so _looking forward to it) and I know that I must take note of the players' responses in their interviews after the game.

Great, now that we have cleared up all the business, let's just _repeat ourselves _for as long as possible to delay the return to our real jobs; seriously, Loboutin kept spouting 'this game is _crucial. _It will set the _tone. _We need to be ready to sell this team, win or lose, so be prepared to do some serious spinning. We need to give the fans _hope.' _

I would just like to say that the Chudley Cannons have been a professional Quidditch franchise for 402 years. That's 402 opening matches. This is _not _the single most important event in History. Though I really was hoping for a win; it would make my job so much easier.

I had been absentmindedly doodling in my day planner, but hadn't paid much attention to what I had been creating, until the girl beside me slid a note to me that read:

_I don't mean to pry, but aren't you the girl who's dating Malfoy? _

I frowned down at the note in confusion. What did Malfoy have to do with anything? I then realized that my subconscious artistic genius had drawn a bajillion little hearts with 'Josh O'Riley' written in swirly cursive all over the page. Oh. I get it. She now thinks I'm cheating on him. How presumptuous.

**Not that it is any of your business at all, but no, I am not dating one Scorpius Malfoy, and I never will.**

So there. My heart belongs to Josh and that's that.

_So the WonderWitch story was completely, 100% made up? I mean, usually they base them off of __**some **__facts._

At first, a jolt of annoyance ran through me, and I thought 'who the Hell are you? Go find your own famous boyfriend instead of worrying about all of mine!' But then I looked over at her and saw nothing but honest curiosity in her eyes, and I just shrugged. I might as well tell her my life story if she thought it was so interesting. I was bored anyway.

And, believe it or not, that's how I met my first friend at Cannons Headquarters. I explained to her that Malfoy had spread the word that we were dating, (much in the way one would spread a _disease_) because he is an evil sea urchin with no soul who is out to make my life miserable.

In turn, she told me that she would be thrilled to be dating a Quidditch star given her tale of the one man she had ever dated; it turns out he was bipolar and developed a weird foot fetish, so intense that he would vanish all her shoes and socks so that she would be forced to always walk around barefoot.

How heartbreaking. I'm very proud of her catching him off guard and knocking him out with a stiletto boot when she had finally had enough.

Her name is Natalie Watson, and we have plans to sit together at Saturday's game. Yay! I love people who think I'm interesting.

* * *

Back in my office. 4:54. I drummed my fingers along my desk, and ran my hands through my hair. 4:55. I grabbed my stress ball and a paperweight and attempted to juggle, to no avail. 4:57. I made all of the furniture in my office, minus the chair I was sitting on, levitate and then come back down. How thrilling. I then turned the leaves of my potted plant purple. It looked very exotic. 4:59… Screw it. I could bow out a minute early, what difference would it make?

The second I stood up to leave, there was a knock on my door. "Come in," I huffed in frustration. How long would this take? Couldn't they have shown up 5 minutes earlier?

The wonderful, beautiful specimen of Josh O'Riley stepped into my office, and all anger and anxiety seeped out of my body. He was wearing the cheekiest grin, and just having him standing in the same room as me, _alone, _had my heart pounding and my palms sweaty.

"H-hey, er, what's up?" I breathed.

"Listen, Rosie, there's something that I want to get out, just put everything on the table so you know what's going on."

That sounded slightly ominous, but he was still grinning and I didn't trust myself to speak, so I let him carry on, "Listen, I know you're with Malfoy and everything, but if you ever wanna hang out, you know, just the two of us… well…" He leaned towards me and I thought I would pass out as he continued, "I won't tell if you don't."

He gave me a wink, and a 'hopefully I'll see you around' and backed out of my office. The room was spinning, and my purple potted plant was doing nothing to help my dizziness. Did that really just happen? Did Josh O'Riley really just say that he wanted to hang out with me, just me? How did I get so lucky?

I can't wait to tell our grandchildren: 'I was technically seeing someone else at the time, but your granddaddy, well, he wasn't gonna let that get in the way of destiny!'

Once I recovered from the near-fainting spell brought on by lack of oxygen, I jumped up and down with a little squee, and immediately got down to business. It was imperative that I find Malfoy at once and inform him that we would not be in a relationship for much longer.

* * *

"I fully intend to cheat on you."

Maybe there have been better greetings, but I needed to get right to it, I didn't want to be wasting any time! I had apparated to his swanky penthouse (and no, knowing where it is does _not _make me a stalker, it became highly publicized recently that the Cannons were paying for it as part of the deal of Malfoy playing here, so there were pictures of it all over, and I know this city very well and identified it at once) with the sole intention of mentally preparing him for the imminent end of our pseudo-relationship.

"Have you ever heard of knocking, Weasley? I would strongly advise it, I have a tendency of walking around in the buff in the comfort of my own home."

I _hate _being ignored.

"I had a very important announcement! And all you can focus on is being naked and knocking!" Wow. That came out wrong. He raised an eyebrow and I felt my face heat up. I needed to get back on track, and fast.

"You listen here, Malfoy. It has been decided that Josh and I are planning a very romantic rendezvous, so all I'm saying is, you should prepare yourself. This way, all media will pin me as a cheating whore and you will be cast as the poor victim and have more fans then ever. Not to mention, our ridiculous sham of a relationship will be over. Problem solved. Got it?"

He had crossed him arms over his chest, and began to look more and more agitated as I went on.

"_What _the Devil are you going on about? How have you planned a rendezvous with Josh when you're supposed to be dating me?"

"First of all, you are being far too protective for a fake boyfriend, and second of all, for your information, he came to me and said he didn't care if I was seeing someone, he wasn't going to let that get in the way of destiny!"

"_First of all," _he mocked, "I highly doubt he said any of that. Second, I can't believe how completely dense you're being right now. You think this guy, who will ask you out even when he thinks you're dating his teammate, is a good guy? You think being faithful to _you _is going to matter to him at all?"

He just makes me so _angry. _"It's not up to _you," _I shrieked, "to decide if he is right for me! You're a scumbag when it comes to girls anyway you _hypocrite!_"

His jaw was clenched and his eyes were flashing. He looked angrier than I can ever remember seeing him, and I felt a pit of dread build up in stomach that _I _had made him look that way.

He marched towards me, and for a split second I was afraid he would resort to physical violence, until he simply reached behind me and opened the door.

"_I _would have been faithful to you."

The pit of dread was growing, and I felt tears start to sting my eyes and I couldn't even figure out why. I just knew that I didn't ever want to see him like this, and I didn't ever want to feel like this.

"Please leave."

I should have stayed. I should have tried to say something, to apologize, something to erase these last five minutes from history. I didn't like having him be angry with me. I hadn't really realized just how much it meant to me having him always hovering around and playing pranks and making inappropriate comments until I thought that maybe he _wouldn't _anymore.

Now what was I supposed to do?

Maybe I could use a family meeting to discuss my judgment after all.

* * *

A/N: Ick. Seriousness. I'm sorry there were less funnies in this chapter, it depresses me, but at the same time I thought it was time for some _drama! _Fear not things will brighten up soon!

I appreciate any and all reviews. *cough*


	7. Dangerous & Sweet

A/N: YAY NEW CHAPTER I am mucho hoping that it is not crap. Please let me know. And thanks once more for reviewing last chapter! :D

_All these words we speak casually_  
_Well, maybe I'm just weak, but it hurts me_  
_Everything you said, well it cuts like a knife_  
_It hurts me deep inside and I know that you are just like me _

_Oversensitive_

_I should put on my armor the next time I see you_  
_So I won't be harmed_  
_But I know I can shoot my own arrows, I'm sorry I hurt you_  
_I know that like me you can be _

_Oversensitive_

_-Dangerous and Sweet, Lenka_

* * *

_Dear Malfoy –_

No, no that sounded wrong already. I couldn't address it 'dear', that was too forward. Maybe just 'Malfoy' would be a better start to the world's most groveling apology… letter. To the man who works in the same building as me, because I am too ashamed to look him in the eye and grovel in person.

_Malfoy – _

But that just sounded so impersonal and cold. I decided that maybe I shouldn't bother with addressing it at all, and just jump right into the sniveling.

_I'm sorry I said such cruel things at your flat. And I'm sorry that I was going to cheat on you (even though we're not even really dating) and I'm sorry that I said you were a hypocrite. And I'm sorry I didn't knock._

That had to be the worst apology the world has ever seen. It dawned on me that this was the real, true reason that I was so averse to apologizing; it's not that I have an ego problem that causes me to be unable to admit that I'm wrong, it's just that I'm so crap at begging for forgiveness and _nobody _likes to do things they aren't good at! Maybe if I practiced more I would have more luck… But nah. I don't think there will be much need since I plan to do nothing wrong for the rest of my life. Just needed to get this teensy tiny problem sorted out, and all would be well in the world.

I sent it. Before I could change my mind, and talk myself out of it; though, I wish I had edited it a bit more and made it sound more eloquent. However, I knew that I had a limited time to get it out of my sight before the monster inside me either ripped it to shreds or burned it or ate it or something. But I got to use our spiffy office mailing system, which made the whole situation slightly brighter.

Now that it was out of my office (and, clearly, out of my mind; I wasn't thinking for a second about whether or not he would reply or what he would say if he did) I could get down to business and finish my pump-up piece for the Cannonball regarding tomorrow's season opener. Which made my hands shake slightly just thinking about it, because I just wanted so desperately to see the Cannons make a respectable appearance for once.

There was an awful lot of speculation about the impact that Malfoy was going to have on us, and there seemed to be, for the first time in years, some actual _expectations _for success.

Which stressed me out completely; I just _knew _that Loboutin would make me write something extra 'inspiring and motivational' if the boys were to drop the game and let down basically all of mankind –

A letter zoomed into my office. Even though the door was closed firmly. Told you the mailing system was _spiffy. _One could only assume that it contained Malfoy's forgiveness, but as I am very busy and important and not all that interested in what he thinks of me, I refrained from reading it's contents until I got back to my apartment after work.

Or, I would at least wait until after Lunch.

But maybe it would be best to read it before Lunch, just so it won't seem like I am carrying the morning's business over to the afternoon; that's not organized at all.

_Expectations are higher than they've been in years for these Chudley Cannons, and all fans are feeling that it is time for a comeback year. Will the addition of famed seeker Scorpius Malfoy be enough to bring the Cannons back to a competitive level? All the answers lie in the letter that is sitting on my desk –_

Oh drat. That's not right. Well, so long as the blasted thing was distracting me from my work, the only professional and responsible option would be to just read it right away.

_I'm sorry that you are an idiot. Have fun with O'Riley. Invite me to the wedding._

I felt the familiar sense of dread sweep over me as my stomach dropped down to the first floor. _It's no more than you deserve. _Shut up, brain. I hated him for being so snippy, and I hated myself for letting it affect me, for letting it make me want to cry.

I hated myself for _caring._

_

* * *

_

"Don't you just look like a ball of sunshine this morning!"

Such was the greeting I received bright and early Saturday morning as I met Natalie in our box, ready to watch the Cannons be decimated by the Winbourne Wasps. Best thing about this job hands down, though, had to be the free season tickets in the best seats in the house. I didn't even care (sort of) that my stomach was in knots and I felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding; at least I would be able to watch the mass destruction from an excellent angle.

That's something that doesn't happen every day.

I couldn't help but be reminded, however, of the fact that there was soon to be a 'mandatory family meeting' going on that I had never said I would not be attending; I just knew that as the seconds ticked by I was digging myself a bigger hole with my parents, but I couldn't bring myself to talk to them, to tell them I wasn't really dating Malfoy but for some reason the rumours about our 'romance' still hadn't stopped.

And also that we snogged in the broom shed.

That would just be an unbearably awkward conversation that I was not quite prepared to have.

"I have an unshakeable inkling that we are going to be massacred this morning, and the thought of how much work I'm going to have to do tomorrow is getting me slightly down."

"Cheer up muffin! The wasps aren't even that good, and besides, Randy Prolimorsky severed three fingers yesterday! And he has to wait a full forty-eight hours to be cleared for play again, so Winbourne has to play a reserve chaser! Today will be brilliant!"

I do so appreciate her optimism, and her calling me muffin seeing as how I love muffins and was therefore extremely flattered, but I'm not sure that _anyone _severing three fingers is ever good news.

Ick.

Though it did give us a slightly better chance to pull a glorious victory out of our ass; nevertheless, my nausea did not diminish any. It should be against the law for people like me to follow sports teams; I'm far too intense about it. I honestly truly feel like I might die every time the Cannons lose.

You can imagine that this isn't the most pleasant way to live one's life when the team averages about a 7:1 ratio of losses to wins.

"Cannons fans," came the booming voice of Peter Young, the eighty-three year old announcer, "please welcome to the pitch, to open our four hundred and second season, the visiting Winbourne Wasps!"

I'd like to say that we were polite fans who clapped unenthusiastically, but, er, we weren't. Natalie and I yelled a string of rude profanities at them as they flew by us, which was the most amusing thing I'd done all week.

"And now, welcome yooouur Chudley CANNONS!"

We hooted and hollered as they flew through the pitch, and I did my very best to somehow avoid looking at both Josh and Malfoy while simultaneously making a deep emotional connection through eye contact with all of the other players.

I sort of failed.

When I looked at Josh, he gave me a wink as he flew by, (causing Natalie to squeal like some sort of deranged piglet) filling me with guilt as I remembered the fight that Malfoy and I had had that was basically all Josh's fault. I think I managed a shaky smile in return, but it may have simply looked like an 'I'm going to rip out your jugular' face. I couldn't exactly bring myself to care all that much; he was speeding by rather quickly, I doubt he noticed if I scrunched up my face to make it look like I was a psychotic murderer. Maybe that's actually a good look for me, who knows.

I couldn't focus on any of that, though, because I was dwelling on how I had broken the promise I had made to myself that I wouldn't look at Malfoy as he soared by; but _of course _I did, just to check if he was maybe, just maybe, looking _my _way.

He wasn't.

Eyes focused straight ahead, and looking filled to the brim with determination, (whether it was determination to catch the snitch or to simply escape from me was yet to be decided) and I cursed everything in sight that all I could think about was how his lips felt on mine. How snogging him made me feel so warm (erm, make that hot) and then I had been so _cold. _What was the matter with me?

I didn't want to think about snogging him, I didn't want to _like _it, I didn't want to have enough thoughts to spare on him to even bother picking a fight or asking for forgiveness.

So why did I?

* * *

The match may not have provided me with the answers to all of the interrogations I was posing on my brain, but at least it let me know that whatever the Hell it was wasn't going away anytime soon. I was forced to come to the conclusion that I was becoming one of those glassy-eyed, vacant broads who titter, 'there's just something _about him_' while sounding like idiots.

I should have done more mental preparation for the match, but in my defence, I was not expecting it to be nearly so action-packed, and honestly, the first two hours were a snooze, so much so that when Frank Van Pollock of the Winbourne Wasps smashed a bludger into the back of Scorpius Malfoy's skull from about six inches away, I almost missed it.

Josh had already let in fourteen goals while we had only scored a grand total of three, and no one on our team really seemed to care. Or even understand that the point was to get the ball _through _one of the big hoops. That would be a good start.

Needless to say, by this point I was nodding off slightly, but I didn't escape seeing the blow in my peripheral vision. Van Pollock was so close to him that his bat _also _managed to bash his skull around, not a second after the bludger did. That's foul play if I ever saw it; and it caused Malfoy to completely black out, tumble off his broom, and fall thirty feet through the air to land with a sickening crunch on the ground as the entire stadium stared down in shock and anger.

I'm fairly certain I leapt out of my seat in horror and _may _have allowed myself to show some signs of outward caring towards him, but hopefully no one noticed.

Except Natalie, who mused, "You know, for someone who thinks he is a soulless sea urchin you seem oddly concerned for his wellbeing."

To which I reassured her that I was simply concerned for the team and franchise as a whole, and that I understood that it would be much more of a challenge to win this game without our one and only talented player.

But when she shot me a look that clearly demanded I stop spouting lies, I allowed the dreaded words to fall from my lips: "There's just… something _about him." _Oh, Merlin, why me? Why was I forced to become this monster?

After Malfoy was ushered off the pitch in front of the hushed crowd, the reserve seeker emerged, and play was resumed, I can honestly say that I had absolutely no interest in watching. I was not in the mood for seeing Josh spectacularly _not _save every quaffle that came his way; all I really wanted to do was get my hands on Van Pollock and banish him to Antarctica and force him to live there. Naked. Until his bits fell off.

Unfortunately, I wasn't sure how to go about doing this without making a scene and/or landing myself in Azkaban for life, so I planned to hunker down and worry about Malfoy's head and pray to Merlin that he wouldn't die before I'd even gotten the chance to bed him. Or before he'd forgiven me for behaving like such a hag.

Until… Chudley called a timeout to switch seekers. Once again. Because apparently Malfoy had been miraculously healed in twenty-five minutes, it didn't matter that his brains had most likely turned into soup by being hit with a giant ball, a bat, and then the ground. He'd been cleared to play the rest of the game.

And he set out to do just that, flying like a man possessed as the crowd roared their approval of his early return and his drive to bring home a win. Which he did, in such a short time I'm sure it broke some sort of record somewhere out there. He caught the snitch, Natalie and I jumped up and down hugging each other and screaming as the entire stadium erupted in victory; fans knew to celebrate while they had the chance, because who knew how long it would be before the Cannons won again?

No party for Natalie or I however; at least, not yet. We had important business to attend to. Important business which would allow us to get close to all the players immediately, and it was extremely important that I try and speak to Malfoy in order to ensure that he knew that when I thought he might die I was upset.

Everyone likes to know that. I think.

I tried to shove my way through all of the bustling reporters, even though technically I was supposed to be taking notes on what they were saying, and managed to squeeze through all of them only to find that Malfoy was nowhere to be found. I hurried to the broom shed, and sure enough, there he was, sitting on the bench staring at nothing, rather than boasting about his wonderfulness to everyone who would listen like I would have expected.

How odd.

I tentatively shut the door behind me, and uttered, "Er, listen, Malfoy, I really really am sorry about, uh, what I said the other day, and I don't want you to die, and I think you're an excellent snogger, and will you at least look at me please?"

Until he keeled over, fell flat off the bench, and landed face down on the dusty floor at my feet.

* * *

In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have run from the broom shed screaming like a hysterical lunatic in light of the fact that there were dozens of reporters around just waiting to pounce on the next juicy story. But unfortunately, sometimes in life things like this happen, and so I am fully prepared for the ridiculous tales that are going to appear in the paper tomorrow saying that Malfoy's head is totally screwed up and that he will never play again and blah blah blah, which is total bs because obviously he will.

I think.

Of course, the first step to recovery would be for him to, er, wake up. Which hasn't exactly happened yet. He had been almost instantly transported to St. Mungo's, where I quickly followed, feeling absolutely emotionally drained and therefore worrying that I may splinch myself. Which I didn't, so that's always good news.

But there were so many strangers all crowded around him, and they kept _staring _at me so I just _knew _that they recognized me from that blasted WonderWitch article… and I knew that they were waiting for me to show some compassion for the 'man I love', to start weeping or maybe crawl into bed with him or something (which I always thought was sort of rude, it's not like I could ask his permission, it's like taking _advantage _of someone who has lost consciousness!). And so I could have (should have) simply announced to all of the nosy strangers that Malfoy and I were not involved, not in love, not in _anything, _so they could all just stop staring and mind their own business.

But of course I didn't. Because doing so would have been logical, and my mind is physically incapable of that, so instead I kissed his forehead and grabbed his hand and took a seat by his bedside to wait for him to wake up. Because _that's _going to dispel the rumours that we're together. All the random strangers (who _were _these people anyway?) gave me pitying looks that seemed to say 'I understand, sweet pea, that your world has been shattered' (even though it _so _hasn't) and so long as I didn't recognize a single one I figured it would be easiest to just let them believe what they wanted to believe; what difference was it to me, really?

Until my parents walked in. Apparently missing a 'mandatory family meeting' to visit your secret fake boyfriend in St. Mungo's is not something my parents are just going to let go; I'm so glad they got to see me sitting pathetically by an immobile Scorpius Malfoy's bedside while I hold his hand and wait for him to open his eyes and say something annoying.

Now I just needed to use my ultimate brains, the combination (and therefore infinitely more powerful) of the two of theirs, to figure out how I would explain this situation in a way that made sense to them.

Without mentioning any snogging.

Or feelings.

* * *

A/N: In case any of you are wondering, I'm not going to have Malfoy wake up and have amnesia or anything because I _hate _when that happens. Except in the Bourne Identity.

This chapter was longer than the last few, hopefully there was enough action to tide you over until the next update... whenever that is xD


	8. Ours

A/N: I'm a terrible, terrible person who deserves to be executed. I'm so sorry this update took so long, I hope everyone hasn't forgotten about my little tale :(

But on the bright side, I am tres grateful for the reviews on last chapter, and can't express how happy they make me, blah blah blah everyone says the same thing, I know. But it's true. Also, NEW TAYSWIFT ALBUM! Review if this made your life complete, like it did for me.

_Seems like there's always someone who disapproves_  
_They'll judge it like they know about me and you_  
_And the verdict comes from those with nothing else to do_  
_The jury's out, but my choice is you_  
_So don't you worry your pretty little mind_  
_People throw rocks at things that shine_  
_And life makes love look hard_

_-Ours, Taylor Swift

* * *

_

"Er, hello dearest parents."

Oh dear. The looks on their faces were not at all promising. They seemed to spell 'you, young lady, should have been chained in our basement since birth and never allowed to even _see _a boy, let alone fraternize with one'. Not a good start.

"Rose Weasley! Just what – what are you – is that – how could you miss our _family meeting?" _No one ever accused Ron Weasley of being eloquent. I slowly and stealthily removed my hand from Malfoy's, pretending it had never been there in the first place.

"Well, see, it's not that I _wanted _to miss the meeting, but, er, it was kind of required that I go to the season opener, you know, it's sort of important for my job –"

"Couldn't you at least let us know you wouldn't make it? We had lunch all set up. It was quite rude of you Rosie."

Oh Merlin. I wasn't entirely sure I deserved this guilt trip, given how completely unappealing they made this meeting sound. I doubt that either of _them _would want to go to an intervention/meeting to be talked out of dating their fake boyfriend. It didn't even matter that I didn't want to have anything to do with Malfoy, (at the time… now I'm not so sure) I didn't want them to think they had control over my love life.

Because they don't.

At least, they shouldn't. But, the thing is, I've never really been much of a rebel, and I don't know that I could truly go against their wishes if they seriously asked me to do something. So avoiding them and not letting them get the words 'please stop seeing him' out at all seemed like the best possible solution.

I avoided looking either of them in the eye and decided instead to stare intently at Malfoy's thread-bare sheets while I muttered, "I'm sorry, guys, I really am… I didn't mean for you to go to all this trouble. It's just, I'm trying to be independent, and be my own person, like you always encouraged me to and I didn't want to – you know. I don't know. Ruin that." No one ever accused _me _of being eloquent either.

My mother visibly softened at my apology; my father, not so much. He still looked like he was ready to shove me into a chastity belt and make sure Malfoy never left this hospital room.

"Being your own person is great, Rose," stated my father sourly, "so long as this 'own person' is a good one. And your decisions lately have been showing us that maybe this isn't the case anymore."

I felt the sting of his words as though he'd hit me across the face, but strangely what I was most aware of in that moment was the fact that all the idiot strangers were _still _staring at us, like it was any of their business _at all _that my parents were disappointed in my life choices.

I knew I had to get out of that room as soon as physically possible, because I couldn't stand their prying eyes and ears for one more _second, _or the thought that there was some chance Malfoy could maybe hear us and become aware of just how truly prejudiced and obnoxious my parents were (in other words, how similar they were to myself).

"Can we finish this conversation in private please?"

I strode from the room with as much dignity as I could. Which isn't much for a twenty year-old woman who has just been publicly reprimanded by her parents. I led them partway down the hall, before turning to face them and making the decision that I should just be as honest with them as possible. So, I spilled the whole story (for the most part… skipping the snogging of _course) _of how Malfoy had told a little white lie about us having a relationship until it spiraled so out of control that it didn't even seem so preposterous anymore.

When I'd said all that I was comfortable with, and couldn't handle their stony silence anymore, I let out, "Okay, so, I know you guys aren't thrilled with where I'm…'going in life', I guess. And I just want to clear the air that I don't think I'm doing anything all that morally wrong, really, I mean, I haven't hurt anybody or broken the law, or… I don't know. Gotten fired. Yet. So, I hope you know how important it is to me that you guys try and understand where I'm coming from in all this… I know that romance with a Malfoy seems like a _ridiculous _idea, but I feel like I maybe owe it to myself to, you know, try it out."

Silence.

"Please say something."

"… That was a lot for your father and I to take in, Rosie, and this is the exact type of thing we would have liked to discuss over sandwiches rather than in the corridor of a hospital," she said crossly, "now, you know that we have always supported you, but I just want you to think about what you're doing here."

"I'm… considering possibly dating a man that I maybe am becoming slightly crazy about."

This made my temperamental father scoff and roll his eyes as if the idea of me being crazy about anything involving love was absolutely ludicrous.

"Well, yes, but that's not all. Just consider the repercussions of becoming _involved _with a co-worker, especially a professional Quidditch player, you _know _they're notorious for being flighty –"

"Stop. Just stop. Don't pretend you're upset that I've fallen for a Quidditch star, because we both know that if it were any other member of the Canons you both would be thrilled and wanting to plan the wedding!" I had really, really not wanted to get angry with them; I wanted to have a calm discussion with them to prove that I was a mature adult capable of making my own choices.

Ha.

It fell apart when I saw their whole charade of trying to act like they weren't upset because he was a _Malfoy, _wanting to act like they weren't prejudiced and would treat everyone equally when it was written all over their disapproving faces when they saw me holding his hand that it was where he came from that they had a problem with.

And I lost it.

"Don't _pretend _that this is about work, or professionalism, when we all know that this is nothing more than you two being unable to let go of the past and the fact that you didn't _like _his parents!"

"Can you _blame _us Rosie?" Oh Merlin. When my father and I _both _start yelling, things get rather raucous. "There has never in history been a Malfoy who was anything other than scum, and I will not just _stand by _and let him destroy my daughter!"

I couldn't have been more furious. Furious that he thought he needed to protect me, furious that he thought he still could. I needed to make my own mistakes, and my own decisions, and I refused to let myself be as closed-minded as they were.

"So you'd rather do it yourself?"

And I left. Strode to the nearest exit as quickly as my legs would take me and then apparated home.

Quite over-dramatically, I'll admit, but I couldn't stand there and be told how to live my life for another second. I collapsed onto my bed face first and couldn't bring myself to move. Without another motion, I drifted to sleep.

* * *

I slept fitfully, never-ending nightmares involving a medley of my parents refusing to ever speak to me again, and of Malfoy never leaving the hospital and becoming a permanent vegetable.

Although, as I sat staring at my desk, on a _Saturday _(no one ever mentioned weekend work when I took this job) I couldn't help but think of one overwhelming perk of being a perma-veg: complete relaxation. I could really use some of that. It had been a hectic day, making sure that all statements given regarding Malfoy's injury were, if not accurate, at least politically correct in the world of sport.

Meaning that no details were to be disclosed, and no one was to know that he _still _hadn't woken up, even though I had sort of expected him to quite some time ago. And I think most everyone had, actually. Apparently it was imperative that people not panic and begin to speculate that we had lost our one star, and therefore everything needed to be kept tightly under wraps. Which, on the plus side, meant no random strangers were allowed to visit his room; only Canons staff, close friends and family.

Oh, if only that meant I was free to sit by his bedside and stroke his soft hair for as long as I wanted. And yes, I am aware of how pathetic that sounded. But that was really all I wanted to do, and you have my parents to blame for it. As much as I had always considered myself a good girl, one who wasn't much for breaking rules, I was finding myself, curiously, more drawn to Malfoy than ever now that my parents had basically announced him to be strictly forbidden.

It was kind of… sexy. And alluring. And if only he would wake up already, we could get down to business and I could take care of all of my distracting desires.

I went to check on him during my lunch break, you know, just in case there had been a change in his state (which there hadn't), and now I had no choice but to wait until I was released from this prison so that I could perform another check-up. The seconds were ticking by like minutes, and the minutes like hours, and just when I thought I couldn't handle one more instant, Loboutin dismissed me a full hour and a half early.

I was almost grateful to hear that I looked like a train-wreck if it meant that I was free to go stare at a motionless Malfoy in the hospital. To my utter shock, however, when I arrived at his room, I was met with nothing but an empty bed. Panic immediately seized me, and all I could think was that something awful had happened and he had to be moved to an intensive care ward or something. Unless he had simply dropped dead. That, unfortunately, occurred to me too.

I stared blankly at the vacant room, every worst possible scenario in the book running through my mind until I physically slapped myself in the face to bring myself back to earth so that I could think clearly.

Thankfully no one saw.

I don't think.

But it helped slow the montage of tragic images enough for me to calm down, and attempt to think rationally. Attempt being the operative word. I took a deep breath, and concluded that, while there was always the possibility of disaster, it was just as plausible that he had simply woken up and headed home. Optimism is important! In light of this discovery, I made the decision to lurk outside his flat attempting to determine whether or not he was inside.

Or I could just knock, but, you know. That's not my style.

Upon arriving at my destination, I proceeded to glue my ear to the door hoping to hear some noise proving that Malfoy was alive and moving. I did this for approximately one full minute before getting fed up with the silence and simply throwing the door open. And of course I didn't knock. I didn't think he was home.

But he was.

He was sitting on the couch that had been my makeshift bed the night of the staff party, with his feet resting comfortably on his coffee table as he read a magazine. As if he hadn't just nearly had a near-death experience scaring the crap out of everyone who gives a rat's ass about… Quidditch.

"You're alive, then." I stated rather tactlessly.

"That's a wonderful observation you've made, Weasley. Genius, really."

"Yes, well," I sputtered, "it really wasn't all that obvious you know, all of a sudden your room was just _empty _and you could easily have been sabotaged by a member of an opposing team or something –" I stopped when I saw the edges of his mouth quirk up and it became clear he was fighting a smile.

"Worried about me, were you?" Now he was just being smug. (There's no need to rub it in. It's not like this is something I _wanted._)

I deftly sidestepped the question. I'm sure he didn't notice that I never answered it. Ha. I chose instead to reprimand, going with, "Is it really appropriate for you to just up and leave St. Mungo's? Does _anyone _know you're here?"

He simply shrugged.

"I didn't like it there. It smelled like grape juice. So once I was capable of leaving without any assistance, I simply waited until there was no one around and then headed home."

I stared at him blankly. "You have got to be kidding me. Malfoy, you need to be _checked out, _you can't just up and _leave. _ They need to make sure you're really okay!" Only an arrogant ignoramus like Malfoy would think that he could just sneak out of the hospital because it smelled funny.

"I _am _really okay. And honestly, I think I can tell. It's my body you know. Besides, I apparated here just fine. And I feel great. Stupendous, actually."

"Right. Just like you felt _fine and stupendous _after being knocked out. What if your head is still all funny and you don't even realize it?" I was starting to really worry, and some of my panic was definitely showing through. Now there would be _no _hiding the fact that I really was anxious for him.

"Rose. I'm fine. If it makes you feel better, I'll take a few days off. As a thank you."

That's when I finally remembered that the last time Malfoy and I had talked, he had been furious and not wanting anything to do with me. And now he was being… civil. More than. He was _thanking _me. His brain really _had _turned to soup!

"Thank me for what…" I asked cautiously, ready for him to spew some fictional story that his poor addled brain had made up.

"For sticking up for me. Page 12." And he tossed the magazine he had been reading towards me (and no, unfortunately, I didn't catch it, I don't possess that type of hand-eye co-ordination). It was the latest edition of Quidditch Weekly, a mag that, unlike WonderWitch, was known for it's accurate representation of facts. And there, taking up the entirety of page 12, was an enormous photo of me chewing out my dear old dad and storming away after our fight regarding Mister Malfoy himself. And then the following page contained a very detailed article stating how 'controversial' my relationship with Malfoy was given our family history; even pulling direct quotes from our fight. I knew we were being too loud for a public place.

Wonderful. So now the entire Wizarding World would know that, not only am I dating Malfoy, (or, whatever) but also that my parents did _not _give us their blessing, and I am apparently 'choosing' love over family. At least, that's how this article made it look. I felt my face start to burn, to my dismay, as I knew Malfoy was watching my face closely to gauge my reaction.

"Aw, Rosie, there's no reason to be embarrassed. I'd toss my parents for you any day." And though he said it jokingly, as a way of poking fun at me, I could tell from the look on his face that there was still some truth to it; he would have stood up for me too.

And somehow, it seemed like the sweetest thing anyone could have said.

So I tossed the magazine to the ground, grabbed him and crashed my lips to his.

And finally, _finally, _got to run my fingers through his silky hair like I'd been desperate to do all day.

* * *

A/N: Jeez, this took forever. I had my very first encounter with writer's block; I sat down at my computer and all of a sudden nothing would come out. It was horrible. It was terrifying. It was scarring. And this was the result. I'm not entirely thrilled with it, I am feeling like maybe everything is happening too quickly.

I would appreciate your thoughts and fingers crossed they will lead to updates happening more quickly.

:D


	9. Actor Out of Work

A/N: So hey. It's been right ages since I have updated, and I am sure everyone has forgotten about this story since I vanished under a rock for months and months. Bad, bad me. I feel awful. Oh well, here is an update, and boy am I ever proud of myself to have gotten back into it somewhat! Yay!

* * *

_You're a cast signed broken arm _  
_You're an actor out of work _  
_I think I love you, I think I'm mad _

_You're a boxer in the ring _  
_With brass knuckles underneath _  
_I think I love you, I think I'm mad_

_Actor Out of Work, St. Vincent_

* * *

"I always knew you wanted my body."

"Oh, shut it, Malfoy," I exclaimed fondly as I lay on his chest, sprawled on top of him on his comfy leather sofa after I finally (yet all too soon) put an end to our snogging before I died of a lack of oxygen/had my way with him without making him work for it, "I did not _always _want your body. This is a rather recent development."

"I should have gotten myself severely injured and hospitalized years ago, and I would have, if I'd known this would be the result." Hmm. Interesting.

"Years ago? For how many years has snogging me on your couch been your number one goal?" I was teasing, of course, yet still slightly curious that maybe this _had _been something he'd wanted for a while. Who doesn't want to be the girl that the studly successful superstar pines over? (Also the girl that the studly successful superstar tormented and irritated for all of those years that he was supposedly 'pining', but, you know, whatever.)

He laughed lightly, causing his chest to rumble pleasantly underneath me. "Well I wouldn't have called it my number _one _goal. Maybe number three or four. But all jokes aside… Look, when you're a professional Quidditch player, there are always girls around. Which is convenient, obviously, and I'm not complaining, but I've always… enjoyed a little bit of a challenge."

That was not the satisfying 'yes, Rosie, for years you have been all I have thought about, and nothing comes close to finally being able to hold you in my arms' response I had been hoping for. I was a challenge? Like a rubiks cube, or a crossword puzzle? I couldn't stop myself from feeling disappointed, and from wondering how long it would be until the novelty wore off for him. How many times does a person solve a rubiks cube before they toss it in the trash and pick up a new challenge, like… knitting?

I didn't respond, because I was busy being disgruntled yet trying not to say anything since I know for a fact that it is totally not cute to be all 'are you saying that's all I am to you? But waaaah I need to hear you say you'll love me forever!' Not that I would ever say that. Since Malfoy and I have only been fake dating for an extremely short period of time and real dating for – are we real dating now? Or are we just half-friend co-workers who snog? Oh dear. I must find out. Immediately. Except that Malfoy took my silence to mean that I was all finished talking, and therefore there was really nothing else to do but… slowly rub his fingers in circles on my back as he kissed my neck up to my ear.

What was I going to ask him about again?

As his lips found mine, I decided that whatever it was that I had wanted to talk to him about was _definitely _less important than removing his shirt and seeing the seeker abs that I had once or twice (all the time) fantasized about.

* * *

I am in deep trouble. In so many ways.

First of all, there is the small, teensy eensy weensy fact that my parents are furious with me for following my heart instead of using my head, or whatever their point was, and I have yet to speak to them and extend my apologies. For screaming at them in the hospital, not for having somewhat more than friendly (but most of the time far less than friendly) feelings for Scorpius Malfoy. I mean, for goodness sakes, this is the twenty-first century. It's hardly the era where parents choose romantic partners for their children.

I can decide for myself! Using my excellent judgement! But anyways. That is problematic dilemma numero uno.

After that is the present situation I am in, which is that there is officially not a single member of the Cannons staff who doesn't recognize me as 'Scorpius Malfoy's girlfriend' due to all of the ridiculous press items that have been released regarding the two of us. Now, while at first I thought maybe this would entice people to be super nice to me since I am influential to someone influential, and therefore extremely important myself, so far that has not been the case. Instead, I am being regarded as 'the sneaky tart who is sleeping with a Cannon for his money/fame/success and who deserves evil dagger-eye stares anytime she leaves the safety of her office'. And while I wouldn't go so far as to say that I have a desperate need to be liked…Okay. That's a lie. I have a desperate need to be liked. By anyone and everyone, but especially co-workers! And also people on the street, and the children of the people on the street. Basically everyone. Did I say everyone already? Focus Rose.

I'm not sure how to deal with all of the silent, fuming hostility that is being sent my way. I mean, I can understand the infuriated and jealous young women who want my 'boyfriend' all to themselves and are therefore plotting my death, but what about everyone else? I just want to attach a ginormous sign to my forehead that says 'I AM NOT A GOLD-DIGGING, FAME-STEALING HUSSY.' Come to think of it, I think that _would _help the situation. I am going to make a sign right now. I'll hang it outside my door.

But the third, most pressing issue is, of course, in direct regards to Malfoy himself. Four days have passed since our superhot couch-snogging session, and I have yet to truly decipher what we are. Now, I would love to say that I am the kind of lady who is hip and trendy and doesn't care about the 'label' of a relationship, but, well I am not. At all. I, personally, love being able to talk about 'my boyfriend', to tell the world I am unavailable, and to know what the boundaries of the relationship are right off the bat without any confusion.

And since Malfoy has yet to get down on one knee and humbly beg me to be his loyal girlfriend while fireworks explode and confetti rains down, I am left swimming in confusion and deep emotional _turmoil._

It's not that I don't mean to ask him, maturely, where we stand. I do. Really. It's just that, any time we find ourselves alone, gloriously, wonderfully alone, I get… sidetracked. It's not _fair _that he has just the softest hair and the smoothest skin and the most talented lips. And tongue. And hands… Sweet Merlin. Do you see the problem here? How am I ever supposed to sit him down and say, 'listen, mister, I am not one of your many groupies, and you cannot touch me again until I know that I'm the only girl you're thinking about' when every time I see him I end up launching myself at his lips after a mere five seconds?

Maybe I _am _just one of his many groupies! I mean, I'm surely acting like one, being completely unable to control my hormones whenever he is within one hundred feet of me. How do I know he's not snogging me and then running off and snogging someone else before I've even gotten my breathing back to normal?

This won't do.

I vow, right now, on everything that is holy to me including my parents, extended family, and chocolate mousse, that the next time I see Scorpius Malfoy, I will _not _lose my head and pounce on him. I will behave maturely and professionally, and politely ask him what exactly is going on between us so that I can stop all of this worrying.

It will give me wrinkles.

I think the best strategy in order to successfully complete this talk would actually be to put myself in a full body bind, minus my mouth so that I could still speak. But then I could still snog, and that would defeat the whole purpose, oh Merlin, that's useless plan –

Oh.

Think of the Devil, and the Devil he doth appear. Scorpius Malfoy came barging into my office, with tousled hair and a face like thunder, slamming the door behind him. Bloody Hell he looked angry! (But still incredibly shaggable, of course.) I mentally ran through my actions since I had seen him last, trying to remember what I had done to make him appear as though he wanted to murder me. My worrying switched to confusion, however, when he leaned back against the door that he had violently assaulted two seconds earlier, (my poor office door, _really, _doesn't anyone understand that it needs to be treated with _care?_) grinned at me, and uttered nothing more than, "So hey. How's it going."

My mind whizzed around in multiple directions before I was able to come up with a response, so he may possibly believe I am slow in the head now. First, of course, I worried about the state of my door, and then wondered what the long-term repercussions would be of seeing someone with a multiple personality disorder, and then finally became fixated on his lovely forearms as he crossed them over his chest. (Now, I understand that forearms are maybe not always that exciting, but if you had seen the way he was flaunting them in my face, all _exposed, _you would understand why I could not look away.)

Finally, _finally, _I my mouth caught up to my brain and I was managed to utter, "Why are you so mad at my door?"

Right. Because _that _didn't sound remotely stupid. Sigh. Maybe I should just give up on trying to communicate logically with people.

To which he responded carelessly, "Hmm? Oh, that. Well, nosy bastards in this building are far too interested in our affairs, so I figured if I was seen storming in here furiously, they would assume we were arguing. Rather than suspect that we were shagging on your desk."

Don't, Rosie, don't think about shagging on your desk, stop picturing it, no no no – FOCUS!

"Now they'll just assume that we are having makeup sex." Oh drat, where did that come from? Why did I say that? Those words sounded nothing like 'Scorpius, what's going on; are we together or not?'

He pushed himself off of the door and slowly sauntered around to my side of the desk, my _territory, _like a predatory stalking his prey.

"Would they be correct in that assumption?" I looked into his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes swimming with mischief and, dare I say, lust, and my heart started hammering impossibly fast.

"Of course not," I attempted to state matter-of-factly, but I was embarrassed by how breathy my voice sounded, "We haven't been fighting." Good girl, Rosie. That was very logical. Now just remember to keep breathing, and remember the vow, you made yourself a vow, something about talking and not snogging –

"What a shame." He was leaning over me now, his face dangerously close, and he just smelled so _clean, _and I felt myself biting my lip as my body responded to his presence at an alarming rate. As he began to close the small distance between us, I shocked myself (and also Malfoy) by shooting up out of my chair and zooming to the other side of the room. Wow. I didn't think I had it in me. Immediately I felt better, with some distance and a desk between us. The fog in my brain started to dissipate.

Malfoy, on the other hand, looked completely baffled. And also somewhat like a kicked puppy.

"What did you do that for?"

"Now you listen here, Mister!" I started, my voice as strong as I could make it. It was also, er, rather loud. And I sounded terribly rehearsed. "I will not be one of your groupies! This snogging absolutely, under no circumstances, can continue, lest I know for certain that we are snogging each other exclusively!" Phew. It was difficult to get all of that out. I'm ever so proud of myself.

Malfoy continued to look like he simply had no clue what on earth was going on. He blinked in confusion numerous times, and then frowned. "Of course we are snogging each other exclusively. Aren't we? You haven't been snogging someone else have you?"

"_Me? _Of course not, I am not the famous athlete with people around me every minute of every day desperately offering their sexual services!"

He grinned slightly, but surprisingly, not in an arrogant way. If I had to describe it, I would say that it was… fond. Yes. He grinned fondly. He should do that more often I think, it softened his face immeasurably.

"Come here."

I was hesitant, as that was a dangerous suggestion, but I slowly walked towards him and he wrapped his arms around me. Hmm. He is full of surprises sometimes. I was not expecting a hug.

"We are officially snogging exclusively," he whispered, his lips on the shell of my ear sending tingles down my spine, "because when Scorpius Malfoy wants something, he doesn't _share._"

And _finally _he claimed my lips with his, and I was all too willing, because I had been waiting to do that since he'd barged in, and if I had had to wait one more minute my head would probably have exploded. In the back of my hazy mind, the damn notion of shagging on the desk just wouldn't leave me alone.

It seemed that Malfoy had the same idea, as he picked me up and planted me on it.

_This is against the rules right? Shut up, brain._

He removed my blouse.

_I'm sure it is. I'll be fired. _

My bra followed.

_Oh, to Hell with it. It's my desk. I'll use it however I please._

Seeing as how I graduated Hogwarts as the top witch in my year, you would think I would have had the common sense to think to lock the door.

* * *

A/N: I have no idea what the response will be to this, but I hope it is positive of course! I feel like I have changed a lot in the time between updates so I just hope that the style of my writing doesn't seem completely disconnected from the previous chapters (though, of course, I hope it has improved :) ).

Please leave a review, even if it is to angrily yell at me for being one of the awful people who takes ages and ages to update. I hate those people. :)


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